FROM   THE   LIBRARY  OF 


REV.   LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.  D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED   BY   HIM   TO 


THE   LIBRARY  OF 


PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 


NEW    POEMS 

BY 

CHRISTINA    ROSSETTI 


.^><^<^ 


V 


:OW*^ 


NEW    POEMS    V^. 


BY 


CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI 


HITHERTO   UNPUBLISHED    OR 
UNCOLLECTED 


EDITED   BY 

WILLIAM    MICHAEL   ROSSETTI 


I  rated  to  the  fiill  amount 
Must  render  mine  account 


MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND     LONDON 

1896 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright,  1896, 
By  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


TO 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE 

GENEROUS    EULOGIST   OF 

CHRISTINA    ROSSETTI 

WHO   HAILED    HIS   GENIUS   AND   PRIZED   HIMSELF 

THE   GREATEST   OF   LIVING   BRITISH   POETS 

MY   OLD   AND    CONSTANT   FRIEND 

I  DEDICATE   THIS  BOOK 

W.  M.  R. 


PREFACE 


My  sister  Christina  Georgina  Rossetti  —  beloved 
by  me,  admired,  and  I  may  say  reverenced  —  died 
on  29  December  1894,  aged  64.  There  was  an 
immediate,  a  very  wide,  and  an  exceedingly  strong 
outburst  of  eulogy  of  her  in  the  public  press,  both  as 
woman  and  as  poetess  ;  an  outburst  which  must  have 
fully  convinced  me  —  had  I  not  known  it  already  — 
that  she  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  truly  important 
figures  in  British  poetical  literature  of  the  nineteenth 
century. 

It  will  readily  be  supposed  that  I  do  not  contest 
that  opinion ;  and,  as  soon  as  the  coriditions  admitted 
of  it,  I  resolved  to  put  into  print  any  verses  of  hers 
which  I  could  find,  such  as  would  sustain  her  poetical 
reputation,  or  be  of  substantial  interest  as  showing 
the  growth  of  her  mind.  I  looked  carefully  through 
the  materials  which  she  had  left  behind  her  ;  found 
many   things   which   I   remembered,    and    others    of 


viii  PREFACE 

which  I  knew  little  or  nothing ;  and  perceived  that 
the  amount  of  her  unpublished  verse  was  considerably 
in  excess  of  what  I  had  surmised.  The  result  is  that 
I  now  present  to  the  reader  a  rather  large  volume, 
and  not  (as  I  had  expected)  a  small  one. 

A  glance  at  the  Contents  will  at  once  exhibit  the 
arrangement  which  has  been  adopted  in  this  collec- 
tion. There  are  four  headings  :  —  i,  General  Poems  ; 
2,  Devotional  Poems;  3,  Itahan ;  and  4,  Juvenilia. 

Nos.  I  and  2  explain  themselves  well  enough.  As 
to  No.  3,  it  may  suffice  to  say  that  I  am  well  aware 
these  Italian  writings  will  obtain  few  readers  in  this 
country ;  but  Christina  was  partly  an  Italian,  and  it 
may  be  that  her  compatriots  of  the  South  will  not 
be  w^holly  unheedful  of  what  she  composed  in  their 
tongue.  I  consider  that  her  Italian  verses  are,  from 
a  poetical  point  of  view,  every  bit  as  good  as  her 
English  verses,  while  the  exquisite  hmpidity  of  the 
Italian  language  adds  something  to  the  flow  of  their 
music.  There  are  likely  to  be  some  inaccuracies  and 
blemishes  of  diction,  but  perhaps  only  a  native  eye 
would  detect  these  —  mine  barely  does.  Section  4  is, 
of  course,  of  less  intrinsic  worth  than  the  other  sec- 
tions, but  I  am  in  hopes  that  it  will  count  as  not  wholly 
uninteresting.  I  class  among  the  Juvenilia  all  that 
the  authoress  wrote  before  attaining  (on  5  December 


{ 


PREFACE  ix 

1847)  ^^  '^^  ^g^  ^^  seventeen;  all  these  things,  and 
nothing  else.  In  this  last-named  section  I  make  no 
distinction  of  subject-matter,  nor  yet  of  language. 
Everything  is  ranged  in  order  of  date,  precise  or 
approximate  ;  the  like  order  (it  will  be  perceived)  is 
observed  in  the  other  sections  respectively. 

A  few  remarks  on  the  sources  of  the  volume  may 
be  desirable. 

As  soon  as  Christina  began  writing  verse,  27  April 
1842,  her  compositions  were  copied  into  little  note- 
books. These  are  seventeen  in  number,  going 
on  to  II  June  1866.  The  date  of  each  piece  is 
accurately  recorded.  At  first  the  handwriting  is  that 
of  our  elder  sister  Maria ;  it  is  only  on  1 7  November 
1847,  when  she  was  close  on  seventeen  years  of  age, 
that  Christina  began  trusting  to  her  own  extremely 
neat  but  (for  several  years)  rather  timid  and  formal 
script.  Persons  famihar  with  the  dates  of  her  publi- 
cations will  observe  that  the  note-books  go  up  to 
about  the  time  when  she  printed  the  volume  named 
The  Prince's  Frog?rss  and  other  Poe^ns,  leaving  un- 
touched the  date,  1 881,  of  her  later  volume,  A  Pageant 
and  other  Poeins.  These  seventeen  note-books  are 
the  source  of  a  considerable  majority  of  the  items  in 
our  present  volume;  and  they  would  enable  me  (as 
already  implied)  to  fix  the  dates  not  only  of  what  I 


X  PREFACE 

am  now  printing,  but  also  of  the  contents  of  my 
sister's  first  two  published  volumes.  No  little  interest, 
I  think,  attaches  to  dates,  and,  if  I  have  the  opportu- 
nity at  some  future  time,  I  shall  feel  it  a  satisfaction 
to  show  what  were  the  dates  of  her  poems  previously 
known  to  readers. 

Supplementing  the  note-books,  my  sources  are  — 
the  privately-printed  volume  of  1847,  called  Verses ; 
another  privately-printed  book,  Hadriaii's  Add?'ess  to 
his  Soul ;  The  Germ ;  the  original  Gobliji  Market 
volume,  containing  three  compositions  not  afterwards 
reprinted ;  Christina's  prose  book  entitled  Co77i7no7i- 
place  a7id  other  Sto7'ieSy  and  (for  Italian  translations) 
a  copy  of  her  Si7igso7ig ;  three  volumes  of  selected 
hymns  and  devotional  verse,  named  individually  in 
my  notes ;  Mr.  Caine's  compilation,  So7i7iets  of  Three 
Ce7itu7'ies ;  some  magazines  and  reviews,  such  as 
Mac77iilla7i's  Magazi7ie,  The  Athe7icEU77i,  etc. ;  and 
various  scattered  MSS.  which  remained  in  her  own 
possession.  My  notes  give  any  needful  particulars  as 
to  this  matter,  and  as  to  some  other  points  which 
the  reader  may  prefer  to  see  mentioned.  It  seems 
more  than  probable  that  other  verses  by  my  sister, 
as  yet  uncollected,  were  printed  here  and  there  in 
magazines  etc.,  but  I  have  not  as  yet  succeeded  in 
tracing  any  such.     Possibly  also — spite  of  painstaking 


PREFACE  xi 

inspection  on  my  part  —  some  passages  included  in  the 
present  volume  from  MSS.  may  have  appeared  else- 
where, printed  under  altered  headings ;  I  have  done 
my  best  to  avoid  any  such  repetition. 

I  have  reprinted  everything  by  my  sister  which 
I  find  already  pubHshed,  not  in  volume  form.  I 
omit  the  more  unsuccessful  items  in  her  early  book 
of  Verses ;  and  I  omit  also  a  certain  —  not  large  — 
number  of  compositions  in  MS.,  whether  in  the  note- 
books or  otherwise,  which  appear  to  me  to  represent 
her  less  than  well. 

It  is  for  the  reader  to  form  his  own  opinion  whether 
the  contents  of  the  present  volume  are  good,  bad,  or 
indifferent.  But  he  may  perhaps  expect  me  to  give 
some  intimation  as  to  the  value  which  I  attach  to 
them,  in  comparison  wdth  those  poems  w^iich  my 
sister  saw  fit  to  publish  during  her  Hfetime.  Let  me, 
^then,  say  briefly  that  I  conceive  some  of  the  com- 
positions herein  contained  to  be  up  to  the  level  of 
Christina  Rossetti's  best  work,  and  the  great  majority 
of  them  to  be  well  up  to  her  average. 
•  But,  if  such  is  the  case  (it  may  be  asked),  why  did 
she  not  publish  these  verses  herself  ?  As  to  most  of 
the  items  I  see  no  special  reason,  unless  it  be  this  — 
that,  in  point  of  subject  or  sentiment,  they  often 
resemble,  more  or  less,  some  of  those  examples  which 


xii  PREFACE 

she  did  print ;  and  she  may  have  thought  that  the 
pubhc,  while  wilUng  to  have  one  such  specimen, 
would  be  quite  contented  to  lack  a  second.  Christina, 
I  take  leave  to  say,  did  decidedly  discern  herself 
to  be  a  poetess,  in  the  right  sense  of  the  word ;  but 
her  self-estimate  was  always  a  modest  one,  and  she 
had  not  the  least  inclination  to  thrust  herself,  her 
emotions,  or  her  verses,  upon  the  attention  of  any 
person.  Now  that  she  is  gone,  leaving  behind  her  a 
literary  reputation  not  a  Httle  covetable,  it  seems 
reasonable  to  apply  a  different  rule  to  the  question. 
If  readers  like  these  additional  evidences  of  her 
powers,  if  they  entertain  much  the  same  opinion  of 
them  that  I  do,  well  and  good ;  if  not,  let  the  book 
be  regarded  as  a  superfluity,  and  let  her  name  as  a 
poetess  continue  to  rest  upon  what  she  herself  elected 
to  give  to  the  world. 

Christina's  habits  of  composing  were  eminently  of 
the  spontaneous  kind.  I  question  her  having  ever 
once  deliberated  with  herself  whether  or  not  she  would 
^vrite  something  or  other,  and  then,  after  thinking 
out  a  subject,  having  proceeded  to  treat  it  in  regular 
spells  of  work.  Instead  of  this,  something  impelled 
her  feelings,  or  "'  came  into  her  head,"  and  her  hand 
obeyed  the  dictation.  I  suppose  she  scribbled  the 
lines  off  rapidly  enough,  and  afterwards  took  what- 


PREFACE  xiii 

ever  amount  of  pains  she  deemed  requisite  for  keep- 
ing them  right  in  form  and  expression  —  for  she  was 
quite  conscious  that  a  poem  demands  to  be  good  in 
execution,  as  well  as  genuine  in  impulse  ;  but  (strange 
as  it  seems  to  say  so  of  a  sister  who,  up  to  the  year 
1876,  was  almost  constantly  in  the  same  house  with 
me)  I  cannot  remember  ever  seeing  her  in  the  act 
of  composition  (I  take  no  count  here  of  the  bouts- 
rimes  sonnets  of  1848).  She  consulted  nobody,  and 
solicited  no  advice  ;  though  it  is  true  that  with  regard 
to  her  published  volumes  —  or  at  any  rate  the  first 
two  of  them  —  my  brother  volunteered  to  point  out 
what  seemed  well  adapted  for  insertion,  and  what  the 
reverse,  and  he  found  her  a  very  wilhng  recipient  of 
his  monitions. 

The  portrait  of  my  sister  given  in  the  present  volume 
is  taken  from  a  pencil  drawing  done  by  Dante  Gabriel, 
which  remained  quite  unnoticed  (and  by  myself  for- 
gotten) until  I  turned  it  up  among  her  miscellanies 
after  her  death.  It  is  much  like  her,  and  is  possibly 
the  sweetest  version  of  her  face  that  he  or  anyone  ever 
produced.  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  it  were  a  slight 
study  preliminary  to  the  picture  Ecce  Ancilla  Domini 
(National  Gallery).  She  sat  for  the  head  there  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  which  is  not  however  in  profile.  In  such 
case  its  date  cannot  be  earlier  than  the   middle  or 


xiv  PREFACE 

later  part  of  1849,  when  Christina  was  eighteen  years 
of  age ;  the  head  looks  to  me  even  younger  than  that, 
rather  than  older. 

Apart  from  this  book,  my  sister's  poems  are 
contained  in  three  volumes,  published  by  Messrs. 
Macmillan — I  have  already  mentioned  them;  also  in 
the  volume  named  Singsong,  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
same  firm;  and  in  the  Verses  (1893)  issued  by  the 
Society  for  Promoting  Christian  Knowledge.  Were 
it  to  be  my  privilege  at  some  future  day  to  bring  out 
her  Complete  Poetical  Works  on  something  of  the 
same  plan  as  the  present  volume  —  with  due  regard 
to  dates,  etc.  —  few  things  would  please  me  better. 
Her  memory  is  one  of  my  most  sacred  treasures, 
and  her  works  and  their  repute  are  proportionately 
dear  to  me. 

William  M.  Rossetti. 

London,  August  1895. 


CONTENTS 


GENERAL  POEMS 


The  whole   Head   is    Sick  and  the  whole  Heart 

Faint 3 

Repining 4 

Lady  Montrevor 14 

Sonnets  written  to  Bouts-rimes  — 

I.  "Amid  the  shades  of  a  deserted  hall"      .  15 

II.  "I  sit  among  green  shady  valleys  oft"       .  15 

III.  "  WOULDST    THOU    GIVE    ME   A    HKWY    JEWELLED 

CROWN  " 16 

IV.  "I    SAID   WITHIN    MYSELF:    I   AM   A   FOOL"  .            .  1 7 
V.    "I    SOUGHT   AMONG   THE   LIVING   AND    I    SEEK"       .  1 7 

VL    "Ah   WELLADAY  and  wherefore  am  I  HERE?"  18 

VII.  "And   is   this  August  w^eather?     Nay,  not 

so" 18 

VIII.    "  MeTHINKS    the    ills     of    life    I     FAIN     WOULD 

SHUN  " 19 

IX.  The  Plague 20 

X  a.  "  Would  that  I  were  a  turnip  white  "        .  20 

XV 


XVI 


COiVTE.VTS 


Sonnets  to  Bouts-rim^s  — 

x  ^.  "i    fancy    the    good    fairies    dressed     in 

WHITE  " 

xc.  Vanity  Fair 

On  Keats 

Have  Patience 

To  Lalla  reading  my  Verses  topsy-turvy 

Three  Nuns 

The  End  of  the  First  Part 
Two  Enigmas  — 

I.  "  Name  any  gentleman  you  spy  "    . 
II.  "  Me  you  often  meet  "     . 
Two  Chail\des  — 

I.    "  My   FIRST   IS   NO   PROOF   OF   MY    SECOND 

ii.  "  how^  many  authors  are  my  first " 
Looking  Forw^ard 
Life  Hidden 

Queen  Rose  .... 
How  One  Chose  . 
Seeking  Rest 

Two  Thoughts  of  Death    . 
Three  Moments   . 
Is  and  Was  .... 
Song  —  "We  buried  her  among 

Annie 

A  Dirge        .... 
Song  — "  It  is  not  for  her  even 
A  fair  World  though  a  fallen 
Books  in  the  running  Brooks 
The  Summer  is  Ended 


the  flowers  ' 


BROW  ' 


CONTENTS 


xvii 


PAGE 

After  All 

59 

From  the  Antique  — "The  wind  shall  lull  us  yet  " 

60 

To  WHAT  Purpose  is  this  Waste?       .... 

61 

Next  of  Kin 

66 

Portraits 

67 

What? 

68 

Near  the  Styx 

69 

A  Pause 

70 

Holy  Innocents 

70 

Seasons  —  "  In    springtime    when    the    leaves    are 

YOUNG" 

71 

Buried 

72 

A  W^isH 

72 

Two  Parted 

73 

For  Rosaline's  Album 

74 

Autumn 

74 

Seasons  —  "Crocuses  and  snowdrops  wither" 

75 

Ballad .... 

75 

A  Soul          

77 

From  the  Antique  — "  It's  a  weary  life,  it  is,  she 

SAID  "  . 

78 

Restive          .... 

79 

Long  Looked  For 

81 

Listening       .... 

82 

The  Last  Look    . 

83 

I  have  a  Message  unto  Thee 

84 

Cobwebs         .... 

88 

An  After-thought 

89 

To  THE  End 

91 

May       ...... 

94 

xviii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

By  the  Water 95 

A  Chilly  Night 96 

Let  Patience  have  her  perfect  Work      ...  98 

In  the  Lane 100 

Acme loi 

A  Bed  of  Forget-me-nots 102 

Look  on  this  Picture  and  on  this    ....  103 

Gone  Before         .        . 108 

Light  Love 109 

Winter 112 

A  Triad 113 

In  an  Artist's  Studio 114 

Introspective 115 

Day  Dreams 116 

A  Nightmare  (Fragment) 118 

For  One  Sake 119 

From  Metastasio 120 

To-day  and  To-morrow 120 

Yet  a  Little  While 122 

Father  and  Lover 124 

What  Good  shall  my  Life  do  Me?  .        .         .        .125 

Cousin  Kate 127 

Sister  Maude 129 

Promises  like  Pie-crust 130 

Beti^er  So 131 

Our  Widowed  Queen 133 

In  Progress 134 

Seasons  —  '' Oh  the  cheerful  budding-time  !  "          .  135 

June 136 

Jess  and  Jill 137 


1 


CONTENTS 


XIX 


Helen  Grey 

A  Dumb  Friend   . 

To-morrow    . 

Margery 

Last  Night  . 

If  . 

Sunshine 

Meeting 

Under  Willows   . 

A  Sketch 

If  I  HAD  Words  . 

En  Route 

Husband  and  Wife 

What  to  Do? 

In  a  Certain  Place 

Cannot  Sweeten  . 

Of  my  Life  . 

What  Comes? 

Love's  Name 

By  Way  of  Remembrance 

An  Echo  from  Willow-wood 

Golden  Holly 

An  Alphabet 

Cor  Mio 

Who  shall  Say?  . 

Life 

Meeting 

Lines  —  "  Where  are 

Hadrian's  Dk\th-Song  translated     . 

Valentines  to  my  Mother — 1876  to  i^ 


the   songs   I    USED   TO    SING 


PAGE 

138 

139 

140 

141 
144 

145 

147 
148 
149 
150 

151 
152 

154 

156 
156 
158 

160 

161 
161 

162 
164 

165 
165 

168 
168 

169 
170 

171 
171 

172 


XX  CONTEXTS 

PAGE 

My  Mouse 178 

A  Poor  Old  Dog 179 

Parted 179 

To-day's  Burden 180 

Counterblast  on  Penny  Trumpet       .        .        .        .181 

Michael  F.  Z\I.  Rossetti 181 

The  Way  of  the  World 183 

To  my  Fior-di-Lisa 183 

Sleeping  at  Last 184 

DEVOTIONAL   POEMS 

I  do  set  My  Bow  in  the  Cloud  .  .  .  .187 
Death  is  swallowed  up  in  Victory  .  .  .  .189 
A  Christmas  Carol  —  "  Thank  God,  thank  God,  we 

do  believe  " i92 

For    Advent  — ''  Sweet     sweet    sound    of    distant 

waters,  falling  " 1 93 

Two  Pursuits 195 

The  Watchers 196 

Behold,  I  Stand  at  the  Door  and  Knock  .  .198 
Advent  —  "Come,  Thou  dost  say  to  angels"  .        .199 

All  Saints 200 

Eye  hath  not  Seen 201 

St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary 204 

Moonshine 204 

i  look  for  the  lord 207 

The  Heart  knoweth  its  own  Bitterness  — "  Weep 

yet  awhile  " 208 

W'HiTSUN  Eve 210 


CONTENTS  xxi 

PAGE 

There  remaineth  therefore  a  Rest  for  the  People 
OF   God  —  **  Come,   blessed   sleep,   most   full, 

MOST   perfect,    come"     .  .  .  .  .  .211 

A  Harvest 212 

The  Eleventh  Hour 214 

For  under  a  Crucifix 216 

Who  have  a  Form  of  Godliness  .  .  .  .216 
There    remaineth     therefore    a    Rest  —  *'In    the 

grave  will  be  no  space" 217 

Ye  have  Forgotten  the  Exhortation        .        .        .218 

Unforgotten 221 

ZiON  Said 222 

Hymn  after  Gabriele  Rossetti  —  Two  Versions       .  223 

How  Long? 226 

A  Martyr  —  "It  is  over  the  horrible  pain"    .         .  227 

Now  THEY  Desire 228 

A  Christmas  Carol  (for   my  Godchildren)  —  "  The 

shepherds  had  an  angel  "         .        .        .        .  230 

Not  Yours  but  You 232 

The  Heart  knoweth  its  own  Bitterness  —  "  When 

ALL  the   over-work   OF   LIFE  "       .           .            .            .  233 

A  Burden 235 

Only  Believe 239 

A  Shadow  of  Dorothea 240 

For  Henrietta  Polydore 242 

Ash  Wednesday 242 

A   Christmas   Carol  —  "Before  the  paling   of  the 

stars  " 244 

Easter  Even 245 

The  Offering  of  the  New  Law 247 


xxii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

By  the  Waters  of  Babylon 248 

Within  the  Veil 250 

Out  of  the  Deep 250 

For  a  Mercy  received 251 

Conference   between   Christ,  the   Saints,  and  the 

Soul 253 

Come  unto  Me 255 

In  Patience 255 

None  with  Him 256 

Birds  of  Paradise 257 

I  KNOW  You  NOT 258 

Thou  art  the  Same  and  Thy  Years  shall  not  fail  260 
A  Christmas  Carol  — "  Whoso  hears  a  chiming  for 

Christmas  at  the  nighest  "        .        .        .        .261 

Cardinal  Newman 261 

Yea,  I  HAVE  A  Goodly  Heritage          ....  262 

A  Death  of  a  First-born 263 

Faint  yet  Pursuing 264 

Heaven  Overarches 265 


ITALIAN   POEMS 

VeRSI  —  "FiGLIA,    LA   MADRE   DISSE  "         ....  269 

L'  Incognita 270 

NiGELLA 270 

Chiesa  e  Signore ,        .271 

II    Rosseggiar     dell'     Oriente  —  Canzoniere  —  II 

Canzoni 272 

L'  Uommibatto 287 


CONTENTS  xxiii 

PAGE 

Cor  Mio 287 

Adriano 288 

NiNNA-NANNA  —  ^iZ   TrADUZIONI    DAL   SlNGSONG         .            .      288 
SOGNANDO 302 


JUVENILIA 

To  MY  Mother  on  the  Anniversary  of  her  Birth 

Hymn 

Love  and  Hope 

On  Albina 

Forget  me  not 

Charity    . 

Earth  and  Heaven 

Love  Ephemeral 

Burial  Anthem 

Summer    . 

Serenade 

The  End  of  Time 

Amore  e  Dovere 

Mother  and  Child 

On  the  Death  of  a  Cat 

Love  Attacked 

Love  Defended 

The  Martyr  —  "See,  the  sun  hath  risen 

The  Dying  Man  to  his  Betrothed 

Lis  ETTA  all'  Amante 

The  Dead  Bride    .... 

Will  these  Hands  ne'er  be  Clean? 

Present  and  Future 


305 
305 
306 
306 
307 
307 
308 

309 
310 

311 
314 
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COXTENTS 


PAGE 

The  Time  of  Waiting 


Tasso  and  Leonora 
The  Solitary  Rose 


334 

337 

337 

The  Song  of  the  Star 338 

Resurrkction  Eve 341 

The  Dead  City 342 

The  Rose ^i^i^ 

I  have  fought  a  Good  Fight 354 

Wishes 355 

The  Dream 336 

Eleanor 358 

ISIDORA 359 

Zara 362 

The  Novice 364 

Immalee 366 

Lady  Isabella 366 

Night  and  Death 367 

The  Lotus-eaters 370 

Sonnet  from  the  Psalms 371 

Song  —  "The  stream  moaneth  as  it  floweth  "        .  372 

The  World's  Harmonies 373 

The  Last  Answer  (written  to  Bouts-rimes)     .        -375 

Notes  by  W.  M.  Rossetti 377 


GENERAL     POEMS 


THE    WHOLE    HEAD    IS   SICK   AND   THE 
WHOLE    HEART   FAINT 


WOE  for  the  young  who  say  that  hfe  is  long, 
Who  turn  from  the  sun-rising  to  the  West, 

W^ho  feel  no  pleasure  and  can  find  no  rest. 
Who  in  the  morning  sigh  for  evensong. 
Their  hearts,  weary  because  of  this  world's  wrong. 

Yearn  with  a  thousand  longings  unexprest ; 

They  have  a  wound  no  mortal  ever  drest, 
An  ill  than  all  earth's  remedies  more  strong. 
For  them  the  fount  of  gladness  hath  run  dry. 

And  in  all  Nature  is  no  pleasant  thing ; 
For  them  there  is  no  glory  in  the  sky. 

No  sweetness  in  the  breezes'  murmuring  : 
They  say,  '^The  peace  of  heaven  is  placed  too  high, 

And  this  earth  changeth  and  is  perishing." 

6  Dece77iber  1847. 


REPINING 


REPINING 

SHE  sat  alway  through  the  long  day 
Spinning  the  weary  thread  away ; 
And  ever  said  in  undertone, 
^'  Come,  that  I  be  no  more  alone." 

From  early  dawn  to  set  of  sun 
Working,  her  task  was  still  undone ; 
And  the  long  thread  seemed  to  increase 
Even  while  she  spun  and  did  not  cease. 
She  heard  the  gentle  turtle-dove 
Tell  to  its  mate  a  tale  of  love  ; 
She  saw  the  glancing  swallows  fly, 
Ever  a  social  company ; 
She  knew  each  bird  upon  its  nest 
Had  cheering  songs  to  bring  it  rest ; 
None  lived  alone  save  only  she  :  — 
The  wheel  went  round  more  wearily ; 
She  w^ept  and  said  in  undertone, 
"  Come,  that  I  be  no  more  alone." 

Day  followed  day,  and  still  she  sighed 
For  love,  and  was  not  satisfied  ; 


REPINING 

Until  one  night,  when  the  moonUght 
Turned  all  the  trees  to  silver-white, 
She  heard,  what  ne'er  she  heard  before, 
A  steady  hand  undo  the  door. 
The  nightingale  since  set  of  sun 
Her  throbbing  music  had  not  done, 
And  she  had  listened  silently ; 
But  now  the  wind  had  changed,  and  she 
Heard  the  sweet  song  no  more,  but  heard 
Beside  her  bed  a  whispered  word  : 
"  Damsel,  rise  up;  be  not  afraid  ; 
For  I  am  come  at  last,"  it  said. 

She  trembled,  though  the  voice  was  mild ; 
She  trembled  like  a  frightened  child ;  — 
Till  she  looked  up,  and  then  she  saw 
The  unknown  speaker  without  awe. 
He  seemed  a  fair  young  man,  his  eyes 
Beaming  with  serious  charities; 
His  cheek  was  white  but  hardly  pale ; 
And  a  dim  glory  like  a  veil 
Hovered  about  his  head,  and  shone 
Through  the  whole  room  till  night  was  gone. 

So  her  fear  fled ;  and  then  she  said, 

Leaning  upon  her  quiet  bed  : 

"  Now  thou  art  come,  I  prythee  stay, 

That  I  may  see  thee  in  the  day, 

And  learn  to  know  thy  voice,  and  hear 

It  evermore  calling  me  near." 


REFINING 

He  answered,  ^'  Rise  and  follow  me." 

But  she  looked  upwards  wonderingly  : 

''  And  whither  wouldst  thou  go,  friend  ?  stay 

Until  the  dawning  of  the  day." 

But  he  said  :   '^The  wind  ceaseth,  Maid  ; 

Of  chill  nor  damp  be  thou  afraid." 

She  bound  her  hair  up  from  the  floor, 
And  passed  m  silence  from  the  door. 

So  they  went  forth  together,  he 

Helping  her  forward  tenderly. 

The  hedges  bowed  beneath  his  hand  ; 

Forth  from  the  streams  came  the  dry  land 

As  they  passed  over  ;  evermore 

The  pallid  moonbeams  shone  before  ; 

And  the  w^ind  hushed,  and  nothing  stirred ; 

Not  even  a  solitary  bird, 

Scared  by  their  footsteps,  fluttered  by 

Where  aspen-trees  stood  steadily. 

As  they  went  on,  at  length  a  sound 

Came  trembling  on  the  air  around ; 

The  undistinguishable  hum 

Of  life,  voices  that  go  and  come 

Of  busy  men,  and  the  child's  sweet 

High  laugh,  and  noise  of  trampling  feet. 

Then  he  said,  ^' Wilt  thou  go  and  see?  " 
And  she  made  answer  joyfully: 


REPINING 

"  The  noise  of  life,  of  human  Hfe, 

Of  dear  communion  without  strife, 

Of  converse  held  'twixt  friend  and  friend  ; 

Is  it  not  here  our  path  shall  end?  " 

He  led  her  on  a  little  way 

Until  they  reached  a  hillock  :   ''  Stay." 

It  was  a  village  in  a  plain. 
High  mountains  screened  it  from  the  rain 
And  stormy  wind  ;  and  nigh  at  hand 
A  bubbling  streamlet  flowed  o'er  sand 
Pebbly  and  fine,  and  sent  life  up 
Green  succous  stalk  and  flower-cup. 

Gradually,  day's  harbinger, 

A  chilly  wind  began  to  stir. 

It  seemed  a  gentle  powerless  breeze 

That  scarcely  rustled  through  the  trees ; 

And  yet  it  touched  the  mountain's  head 

And  the  paths  man  might  never  tread. 

But  hearken :  in  the  quiet  weather 

Do  all  the  streams  flow  down  together?  — 

No,  'tis  a  sound  more  terrible 

Than  though  a  thousand  rivers  fell. 

The  everlasting  ice  and  snow 

Were  loosened  then,  but  not  to  flow ;  — 

With  a  loud  crash  like  solid  thunder 

The  avalanche  came,  burying  under 

The  village  ;  turning  life  and  breath 

And  rest  and  joy  and  plans  to  death. 


REPINING 

"  Oh  let  us  fly,  for  pity  fly  ! 
Let  us  go  hence,  friend,  thou  and  I. 
There  must  be  many  regions  yet 
Where  these  things  make  not  desolate." 

He  looked  upon  her  seriously ; 
Then  said  :  "  Arise  and  follow  me." 
The  path  that  lay  before  them  was 
Nigh  covered  over  with  long  grass ; 
And  many  slimy  things  and  slow 
Trailed  on  between  the  roots  below. 
The  moon  looked  dimmer  than  before ; 
And  shadowy  cloudlets  floating  o'er 
Its  face  sometimes  quite  hid  its  hght, 
And  filled  the  skies  with  deeper  night. 

At  last,  as  they  went  on,  the  noise 
Was  heard  of  the  sea's  mighty  voice ; 
And  soon  the  ocean  could  be  seen 
In  its  long  restlessness  serene. 
Upon  its  breast  a  vessel  rode 
That  drowsily  appeared  to  nod 
As  the  great  billows  rose  and  fell, 
And  swelled  to  sink,  and  sank  to  swell. 

Meanwhile  the  strong  wind  had  come  forth 

From  the  chill  regions  of  the  North, 

The  mighty  wind  invisible. 

And  the  low  waves  began  to  swell ; 

And  the  sky  darkened  overhead  ; 

And  the  moon  once  looked  forth,  then  fled 


REPINING 

Behind  dark  clouds  ;  while  here  and  there 
The  lightning  shone  out  in  the  air, 
And  the  approaching  thunder  rolled 
With  angry  pealings  manifold. 
How  many  vows  were  made,  and  prayers 
That  in  safe  times  were  cold  and  scarce  ! 
Still  all  availed  not ;  and  at  length 
The  waves  arose  in  all  their  strength, 
And  fought  against  the  ship,  and  filled 
The  ship.     Then  were  the  clouds  unsealed, 
And  the  rain  hurried  forth,  and  beat 
On  every  side  and  over  it. 

Some  clung  together,  and  some  kept 
A  long  stern  silence,  and  some  wept. 
Many  half-crazed  looked  on  in  wonder 
As  the  strong  timbers  rent  asunder ; 
Friends  forgot  friends,  foes  fled  to  foes  ;  — 
And  still  the  water  rose  and  rose. 

"Ah  woe  is  me  !  Whom  I  have  seen 
Are  now  as  though  they  had  not  been. 
In  the  earth  there  is  room  for  birth, 
And  there  are  graves  enough  in  earth  ; 
Why  should  the  cold  sea,  tempest-torn, 
Bury  those  whom  it  hath  not  borne?  " 

He  answered  not,  and  they  went  on. 
The  glory  of  the  heavens  was  gone ; 
The  moon  gleamed  not  nor  any  star ; 


lo  REFINING 

Cold  winds  were  rustling  near  and  far, 

And  from  the  trees  the  dry  leaves  fell 

With  a  sad  sound  unspeakable. 

The  air  was  cold ;  till  from  the  South 

A  gust  blew  hot,  like  sudden  drouth, 

Into  their  faces  ;  and  a  light. 

Glowing  and  red,  shone  through  the  night. 

A  mighty  city  full  of  flame 

And  death  and  sounds  without  a  name. 

Amid  the  black  and  Winding  smoke, 

The  people,  as  one  man,  awoke. 

Oh  happy  they  who  yesterday 

On  the  long  journey  went  away  ! 

Whose  pallid  lips,  smiling  and  chill, 

While  the  flames  scorch  them  smile  on  still ; 

Who  murmur  not,  who  tremble  not 

When  the  bier  crackles  fiery  hot ; 

Who  dying  said  in  love's  increase, 

"  Lord,  let  thy  servant  part  in  peace." 

Those  in  the  town  could  see  and  hear 
A  shaded  river  flowing  near ; 
The  broad  deep  bed  could  hardly  hold 
Its  plenteous  waters  calm  and  cold. 
Was  flame-wrapt  all  the  city  wall. 
The  city  gates  were  flame-wrapt  all. 

What  was  man's  strength,  what  puissance  then  ? 
Women  were  mighty  as  strong  men. 


\ 


REPINING  1 1 

Some  knelt  in  prayer,  believing  still, 
Resigned  unto  a  righteous  will. 
Bowing  beneath  the  chastening  rod. 
Lost  to  the  world,  but  found  of  God. 
Some  prayed  for  friend,  for  child,  for  wife ; 
Some  prayed  for  faith  ;  some  prayed  for  life  ; 
While  some,  proud  even  in  death,  hope  gone, 
Steadfast  and  still,  stood  looking  on. 

"Death  —  death  —  oh  let  us  fly  from  death  ! 

Where'er  we  go  it  followeth  ; 

All  these  are  dead ;  and  we  alone 

Remain  to  weep  for  what  is  gone. 

What  js  this  thing  ?  thus  hurriedly 

To  pass  into  eternity ; 

To  leave  the  earth  so  full  of  mirth ; 

To  lose  the  profit  of  our  birth ; 

To  die  and  be  no  more  ;  to  cease. 

Having  numbness  that  is  not  peace. 

Let  us  go  hence  ;  and,  even  if  thus 

Death  everywhere  must  go  with  us, 

Let  us  not  see  the  change,  but  see 

Those  who  have  been  or  still  shall  be." 

He  sighed,  and  they  went  on  together. 
Beneath  their  feet  did  the  grass  wither ; 
Across  the  heaven  high  overhead 
Dark  misty  clouds  floated  and  fled ; 
And  in  their  bosom  was  the  thunder. 
And  angry  lightnings  flashed  out  under, 


12  REPINING 

Forked  and  red  and  menacing ; 
Far  off  the  wind  was  muttering ; 
It  seemed  to  tell,  not  understood, 
Strange  secrets  to  the  listening  wood. 

Upon  its  wings  it  bore  the  scent 
Of  blood  of  a  great  armament : 
Then  saw  they  how  on  either  side 
Fields  were  down- trodden  far  and  wide. 
That  morning  at  the  break  of  day 
Two  nations  had  gone  forth  to  slay. 

As  a  man  soweth  so  he  reaps. 

The  field  was  full  of  bleeding  heaps  ; 
Ghastly  corpses  of  men  and  horses 
That  met  death  at  a  thousand  sources ; 
Cold  hmbs  and  putrifying  flesh ; 
Long  love-locks  clotted  to  a  mesh 
That  stifled ;    stiffened  mouths  beneath 
Staring  eyes  that  had  looked  on  death. 

But  these  were  dead  :  these  felt  no  more 
The  anguish  of  the  wounds  they  bore 
Behold,  they  shall  not  sigh  again, 
Nor  justly  fear,  nor  hope  in  vain. 
What  if  none  wept  above  them  ?  —  is 
The  sleeper  less  at  rest  for  this  ? 
Is  not  the  young  child's  slumber  sweet 
When  no  man  watcheth  over  it  ? 


REPINING  13 

These  had  deep  cahn ;  but  all  around 
There  was  a  deadly  smothered  sound, 
The  choking  cry  of  agony 
From  wounded  men  who  could  not  die ; 
Who  watched  the  black  wing  of  the  raven 
Rise  like  a  cloud  'twixt  them  and  heaven, 
And  in  the  distance  flying  fast 
Beheld  the  eagle  come  at  last. 

She  knelt  down  in  her  agony. 

'*  O  Lord,  it  is  enough,"  said  she  : 

'*  My  heart's  prayer  putteth  me  to  shame ; 

Let  me  return  to  whence  I  came. 

Thou  who  for  love's  sake  didst  reprove. 

Forgive  me  for  the  sake  of  love." 


December  1847. 


14  LADY  MONTREVOR 


LADY  MONTREVOR 

IDG  not  look  for  love  that  is  a  dream — 
I  only  seek  for  courage  to  be  still ; 
To  bear  my  grief  with  an  unbending  will, 

And  when  I  am  a- weary  not  to  seem. 

Let  the  round  world  roll  on ;  let  the  sun  beam ; 
Let  the  wind  blow,  and  let  the  rivers  fill 
The  everlasting  sea,  and  on  the  hill 

The  palms  almost  touch  heaven,  as  children  deem. 

And,  though  young  spring  and  summer  pass  away, 
And  autumn  and  cold  winter  come  again, 
And  though  my  soul,  being  tired  of  its  pain, 

Pass  from  the  ancient  earth,  and  though  my  clay 
Return  to  dust,  my  tongue  shall  not  complain ;  ■ 

No  man  shall  mock  me  after  this  my  day. 

1 8  February  1848. 


BOUTS-RIMES  SONNETS  15 

SONNETS 

Written  to  Bouts-rimes 


AMID  the  shades  of  a  deserted  hall 
I  stand  and  think  on  much  that  hath  been  lost. 
How  long  it  is  since  other  step  has  crost 
This  time-worn  floor  !     This  tapestry  is  all 
Worm-eaten  ;  and  these  columns  rise  up  tall 
Yet  crumbHng  to  decay ;  where  banners  tost 
Thin  spider's  webs  hang  now ;  the  bitter  frost 
Has  even  killed  the  flowers  upon  the  wall. 
Yet  once  this  was  a  home  brimful  of  life, 

Full  of  the  hopes  and  fears  and  love  of  youth, 

Full  of  love's  language  speaking  without  sound : 
Here  honour  was  enshrined  and  kindly  truth ; 
Hither  the  young  lord  brought  his  blushing  wife, 
And  here  the  bridal  garlands  were  unbound. 


I  SIT  among  green  shady  valleys  oft. 
Listening  to  echo-winds  sighing  of  woe  ; 
The  grass  and  flowers  are  strong  and  sweet  below ; 
Yea  I  am  tired,  and  the  smooth  turf  is  soft. 
I  sit  and  think,  and  never  look  aloft, 


1 6  BOUTS-RIMES  SONXETS 

Save  to  the  tops  of  a  tall  poplar-row 
That  glisten  in  the  wind,  whispering  low 
Of  sudden  sorrow  reaching  those  who  laught. 
A  very  drowsy  fountain  bubbles  near, 

Catching  pale  sunbeams  o'er  it  wandering ; 

Its  waters  are  so  clear  the  stones  look  through  : 
Then,  sitting  by  its  lazy  stream,  I  hear 
Silence  more  loud  than  any  other  thing, 

What  time  the  trees  weep  o'er  me  honey-dew. 


m 

WOULDST  thou  give  me  a  heavy  jewelled  crown 
And  purple  mantle  and  embroidered  vest? 
Dear  Child,  the  colours  of  the  glorious  West 
Are  far  more  gorgeous  when  the  sun  sinks  down. 
The  diadem  would  only  make  me  frown 

With  its  own  weight ;  nay  give  me  for  my  crest 
Pale  violets  dreaming  in  perfect  rest, 
Or  rather  leaves  withered  to  autumn  brown. 
A  purple  flowing  mantle  would  but  hinder 
My  careless  walk,  and  an  embroidered  robe 

Would  shame  me.     What  is  the  best  man  who 

stept 
On  earth  more  than  the  naked  worm  that  crept 
Over  its  surface  ?     Earth  shall  be  a  cinder  ; 
Where  shall  be  then  the  beauty  of  the  globe  ? 


BOUTS-RIMES  SONNETS  17 


IV 

I  SAID  within  myself:  ''  I  am  a  fool 
To  sigh  ever  for  that  which  being  gone 
Cannot  return  :  the  sun  shines  as  it  shone  ; 
Rejoice."  —  But  who  can  be  made  glad  by  rule? 
My  heart  and  soul  and  spirit  are  no  tool 

To  play  with  and  direct ;  my  cheek  is  wan 
With  memory ;  and  ever  and  anon 
I  weep,  feehng  life  is  a  weary  school. 
There  is  much  noise  and  bustle  in  the  street ; 
It  used  to  be  so,  and  it  is  so  now ; 

All  are  the  same,  and  will  be  many  a  year. 
Spirit  that  canst  not  break  and  wilt  not  bow, 
Fear  not  the  cold,  thou  who  hast  born  the  heat ;  — 
Die  if  thou  wilt,  but  what  hast  thou  to  fear  ? 


I  SOUGHT  among  the  Hving,  and  I  seek 
Among  the  dead,  for  some  to  love ;  but  few 
I  found  at  last,  and  those  had  quite  run  through 
Their  store  of  love  ;  and  friendship  is  too  weak, 
Too  cold  for  me ;  yet  will  I  never  speak. 

Telling  my  heart-want  to  smooth  listeners  who 
Would  wonder  smiling ;  I  can  bear  and  do  — 
Hot  shame  shall  dry  no  tears  upon  my  cheek. 
So,  when  my  dust  shall  mix  with  other  dust, 


1 8  BOUTS-RIMES  SOXXETS 

When  I  shall  have  found  quiet  in  decay, 

And  lie  at  ease  and  cease  like  a  mere  thought, — 
Those  whom  I  loved,  thinking  on  me,  shall  not 
Grieve  with  a  measure,  saying,  "  Now  we  must 

Weep  for  a  little  ere  we  laugh  to-day." 

VI 

AH  welladay  and  wherefore  am  I  here? 
I  sit  alone  all  day,  I  sit  and  think  — 
I  watch  the  sun  arise,  I  watch  it  sink, 
And  feel  no  soul-light,  though  the  day  is  clear. 
Surely  it  is  a  folly,  it  is  mere 

Madness,  to  stand  for  ever  on  the  brink 
Of  dark  despair,  and  yet  not  break  the  link 
That  makes  me  scorned  who  cannot  be  held  dear. 
I  will  have  done  with  it ;  I  will  not  stand 
And  fear  on  without  hope,  and  tremble  thus, 
Look  for  the  break  of  day  and  miss  it  ever. 
Although  my  heart  be  broken,  they  shall  never 
Say,  ''■  She  was  glad  to  sojourn  among  us, 
Thankful  if  one  would  take  her  by  the  hand." 

vn 

AND  is  this  August  weather?     Nay,  not  so. 
With  the  long  rain  the  cornfield  waxeth  dark. 
How  the  cold  rain  comes  pouring  down  !  and  hark 
To  the  chill  wind  whose  measured  pace  and  slow 
Seems  still  to  linger,  being  loth  to  go. 


BOUTS-RIMES  SONNETS  k 

I  cannot  stand  beside  the  sea  and  mark 
Its  grandeur  —  it's  too  wet  for  that :  no  lark 
In  this  drear  season  cares  to  sing  or  show. 
And,  since  its  name  is  August,  all  men  find 
Fire  not  allowable  ;  winter  foregone 

Had  more  of  sunlight  and  of  glad  warmth  more. 
I  shall  be  fain  to  run  upon  the  shore 
And  mark  the  rain.     Hath  the  sun  ever  shone  ? 
Cheer  up  !  there  can  be  nothing  worse  to  mind. 


vni 

METHINKS  the  ills  of  life  I  fain  would  shun ; 
But  then  I  must  shun  life,  which  is  a  blank. 
Even  in  my  childhood  oft  my  spirit  sank, 
Thinking  of  all  that  had  still  to  be  done. 
Among  my  many  friends  there  is  not  one 
Like  her  with  whom  I  sat  upon  the  bank 
Willow-o'ershadowed,  from  whose  Hps  I  drank 
A  love  more  pure  than  streams  that  sing  and  run. 
But  many  times  that  joy  has  cost  a  sigh; 
And  many  times  I  in  my  heart  have  sought 
For  the  old  comfort  and  not  found  it  yet. 
Surely  in  that  calm  day  w^hen  I  shall  die 

The  painful  thought  will  be  a  blessed  thought, 
And  I  shall  sorrow  that  I  must  forget. 


20  BOUTS-RIMES  SONNETS 


IX — The  Plague 

"  T     ISTEN,  the  last  stroke   of  death's   noon   has 

1    J  struck  — 

The  plague  is  come,"  a  gnashmg  Madman  said, 

And  laid  him  down  straightway  upon  his  bed. 
His  writhed  hands  did  at  the  linen  pluck ; 
Then  all  is  over.     With  a  careless  chuck 

Among  his  fellows  he  is  cast.     How  sped 

His  spirit  matters  little  :  many  dead 
Make  men  hard-hearted.  —  '*  Place  him  on  the  truck. 
Go  forth  into  the  burial-ground  and  find 

Room  at  so  much  a  pitful  for  so  many. 

One  thing  is  to  be  done  ;  one  thing  is  clear  : 
Keep  thou  back  from  the  hot  unwholesome  wind, 

That  it  infect  not  thee."     Say,  is  there  any 
Who  mourneth  for  the  multitude  dead  here  ? 

August  1848. 

X  a 

WOULD  that  I  were  a  turnip  white, 
Or  raven  black, 
Or  miserable  hack 
Dragging  a  cab  from  left  to  right ; 
Or  would  I  were  the  showman  of  a  sight. 
Or  weary  donkey  with  a  laden  back, 

Or  racer  in  a  sack, 
Or  freezing  traveller  on  an  Alpine  height ; 


BOUTS-RIMES  SOXXETS  21 

Or  would  I  were  straw-catching  as  I  drown 
(A  wretched  landsman  I  who  cannot  swim), 

Or  watching  a  lone  vessel  sink, 
Rather  than  writing  :  I  would  change  my  pink 
Gauze  for  a  hideous  yellow  satin  gown 
With  deep-cut  scolloped  edges  and  a  rim. 


y.b 


I  FANCY  the  good  fairies  dressed  in  white, 
Glancing  like  moonbeams  through  the  shadows 
black ; 
Without  much  work  to  do  for  king  or  hack. 
Training  perhaps  some  twisted  branch  aright ; 
Or  sweeping  faded  autumn-leaves  from  sight 
To  foster  embryo  life  ;  or  binding  back 
Stray  tendrils  ;  or  in  ample  bean-pod  sack 
Bringing  wild  honey  from  the  rocky  height ; 
Or  fishing  for  a  fly  lest  it  should  drown ; 
Or  teaching  water-lily  heads  to  swim, 

Fearful  that  sudden  rain  might  make  them  sink ; 
Or  dyeing  the  pale  rose  a  warmer  pink ; 
Or  wrapping  lilies  in  their  leafy  gown, 

Yet  letting  the  white  peep  beyond  the  rim. 


22 


ON  KEATS 


X  c — Vanity  Fair 

SOME  ladies  dress  in  muslin  full  and  white, 
Some  gentlemen  in  cloth  succinct  and  black; 
Some  patronize  a  dog-cart,  some  a  hack, 
Some  think  a  painted  clarence  only  right. 
Youth  is  not  always  such  a  pleasing  sight. 
Witness  a  man  with  tassels  on  his  back ; 
Or  woman  in  a  great-coat  like  a  sack 
Towering  above  her  sex  with  horrid  height. 
If  all  the  world  were  water  fit  to  drown. 

There  are  some  whom  you  would  not  teach  to  swim. 
Rather  enjoying  if  you  saw  them  sink ; 
Certain  old  ladies  dressed  in  girHsh  pink, 
With  roses  and  geraniums  on  their  gown  :  — 
Go  to  the  Bason,  poke  them  o'er  the  rim. 

Circa  1848. 


ON    KEATS 


A  GARDEN  in  a  garden  :  a  green  spot 
Where  all  is  green  :  most  fitting  slumber-place 
For  the  strong  man  grown  weary  of  a  race 
Soon  over.     Unto  him  a  goodly  lot 
Hath  fallen  in  fertile  ground  ;  there  thorns  are  not. 
But  his  own  daisies  ;  silence,  full  of  grace. 
Surely  hath  shed  a  quiet  on  his  face  ; 
His  earth  is  but  sweet  leaves  that  fall  and  rot. 


HAVE  PATIENCE  23 

What  was  his  record  of  himself,  ere  he 

Went  from  us  ?     ''  Here  hes  one  whose  name  was 

writ 
In  water."     While  the  chilly  shadows  flit 
Of  sweet  St.  Agnes'  Eve,  while  basil  springs  — 
His  name,  in  every  humble  heart  that  sings, 

Shall  be  a  fountain  of  love,  verily. 

\%  January  1849  (Eve  of  St.  Agnes). 


HAVE   PATIENCE 

THE  goblets  all  are  broken, 
The  pleasant  wine  is  spilt, 

The  songs  cease.     If  thou  wilt. 
Listen,  and  hear  truth  spoken. 
We  take  thought  for  the  morrow. 

And  know  not  we  shall  see  it ; 
We  look  on  death  with  sorrow. 

And  cannot  flee  it. 
Youth  passes  like  the  lightning, 

Not  to  return  again, — 
Just  for  a  httle  bright'ning 

The  confines  of  a  plain, 
Gilding  the  spires,  and  whitening 

The  gravestones  and  the  slain. 
Youth  passes  like  the  odour 

From  the  white  rose's  cup 

When  the  hot  sun  drinks  up 


24  HAVE  PATIEXCE 

The  dew  that  overflowed  her : 
Then  hfe  forsakes  the  petals 
That  had  been  very  fair ; 
No  beauty  Ungers  there, 
And  no  bee  settles. 
But,  when  the  rose  is  dead 
And  the  leaves  fallen, 
And  when  the  earth  has  spread 

A  snow-white  pall  on. 
The  thorn  remains,  once  hidden 

By  the  green  growth  above  it  — 
A  darksome  guest  unbidden. 

With  none  to  love  it. 
Manhood  is  turbulent. 

And  old  age  tires  ; 
That  hath  no  still  content, 

This  no  desires. 
The  present  hath  even  less 
Joy  than  the  past, 

And  more  cares  fret  it :  — 
Life  is  a  weariness 

From  first  to  last ;  — 
Let  us  forget  it. 
Fill  high  and  deep  !  —  But  how  ? 

The  goblets  all  are  broken. 
Nay  then,  have  patience  now  : 

For  this  is  but  a  token 
We  soon  shall  have  no  need 

Of  such  to  cheer  us ; 
The  palm-branches  decreed 


TO  LALLA  25 


And  crowns  to  be  our  meed 
Are  very  near  us. 

23  Jamia7'y  1849. 


TO    LALLA 

Reading  my  Verses  Topsy-Turvy 

DARLING  litde  Cousin, 
With  your  thoughtful  look 
Reading  topsy-turvy 
From  a  printed  book 

EngUsh  hieroglyphics, 

IMore  mysterious 
To  you  than  Egyptian 

Ones  would  be  to  us ;  — 

Leave  off  for  a  minute 

Studying,  and  say 
What  is  the  impression 

That  those  marks  convey. 

Only  solemn  silence 

And  a  wondering  smile  : 

But  your  eyes  are  lifted 
Unto  mine  the  while. 


26  TO   LALLA 

In  their  gaze  so  steady 
I  can  surely  trace 

That  a  happy  spirit 
Lighteth  up  your  face  ; 


Tender  happy  spirit, 
Innocent  and  pure, 

Teaching  more  than  science. 
And  than  learning  more. 

How  should  I  give  answer 
To  that  asking  look  ? 

Darling  little  Cousin, 
Go  back  to  your  book. 

Read  on  :  if  you  knew  it, 
You  have  cause  to  boast : 

You  are  much  the  wiser 
Though  I  know  the  mosto 


24  Ja7iuary  1849. 


THREE  NUNS  27 


THREE   NUNS 


Sospira  questo  core 
E  non  so  dir  perche. 

SHADOW,  shadow  on  the  wall, 
Spread  thy  shelter  over  me ; 
Wrap  me  with  a  heavy  pall. 

With  the  dark  that  none  may  see  : 
Fold  thyself  around  me,  come  ; 
Shut  out  all  the  troublesome 
Noise  of  hfe  ;  I  would  be  dumb. 

Shadow,  thou  hast  reached  my  feet ; 

Rise  and  cover  up  my  head ; 
Be  my  stainless  winding-sheet. 

Buried  before  I  am  dead. 
Lay  thy  cool  upon  my  breast : 
Once  I  thought  that  joy  was  best, 
Now  I  only  care  for  rest. 

By  the  grating  of  my  cell 

Sings  a  solitary  bird  ; 
Sweeter  than  the  vesper  bell, 

Sweetest  song  was  ever  heard.-^ 

1  "  Sweetest  eyes  were  ever  seen."  —  E.  B.  Browning. 


28  THREE  NUNS 

Sing  upon  thy  living  tree  ; 
Happy  echoes  answer  thee  ; 
Happy  songster,  sing  to  me. 


When  my  yellow  hair  was  curled, 

Though  men  saw  and  called  me  fair, 
I  was  weary  in  the  world, 
Full  of  vanity  and  care. 
Gold  was  left  behind^  curls  shorn. 
When  I  came  here  ;  that  same  morn 
Made  a  bride  no  gems  adorn. 


Here  wrapt  in  my  spotless  veil, 
Curtained  from  intruding  eyes, 

I  whom  prayers  and  fasts  turn  pale 
Wait  the  flush  of  Paradise. 

But  the  vigil  is  so  long 

My  heart  sickens  :  —  sing  thy  song, 

Blythe  bird  that  canst  do  no  wrong. 


Sing  on,  making  me  forget 

Present  sorrow  and  past  sin. 
Sing  a  little  longer  yet : 

Soon  the  matins  will  begin ; 
And  I  must  turn  back  again 
To  that  aching,  worse  than  pain,  — 
I  must  bear  and  not  complain. 


THREE  NUNS  29 

Sing  ;  that  in  thy  song  I  may 

Dream  myself  once  more  a  child 

In  the  green  woods  far  away, 
Plucking  clematis  and  wild 

Hyacinth,  till  pleasure  grew 

Tired,  yet  so  was  pleasure  too, 

Resting  with  no  work  to  do. 

In  the  thickest  of  the  wood 

I  remember  long  ago 
How  a  stately  oaktree  stood 

With  a  sluggish  pool  below 
Almost  shadowed  out  of  sight ; 
On  the  waters  dark  as  night 
Water-lihes  lay  like  light. 

There,  while  yet  a  child,  I  thought 

I  could  live  as  in  a  dream ; 
Secret,  neither  found  nor  sought ; 

Till  the  HHes  on  the  stream. 
Pure  as  virgin  purity. 
Would  seem  scarce  too  pure  for  me  :  — 
Ah  but  that  can  never  be ! 


30  THREE  NUNS 


Sospirerk  d'amore, 
Ma  non  lo  dice  a  me. 

I  loved  him  ;  yes,  where  was  the  sin  ? 

I  loved  him  with  my  heart  and  soul ; 

But  I  pressed  forward  to  no  goal, 
There  was  no  prize  I  strove  to  win. 
Show  me  my  sin  that  I  may  see  : 
Throw  the  first  stone,  thou  Pharisee. 

I  loved  him,  but  I  never  sought 

That  he  should  know  that  I  was  fair. 
I  prayed  for  him ;  was  my  sin  prayer  ? 

I  sacrificed,  he  never  bought ; 

He  nothing  gave,  he  nothing  took ; 

We  never  bartered  look  for  look. 

My  voice  rose  in  the  sacred  choir. 
The  choir  of  nuns  :  do  you  condemn 
Even  if  when  kneeling  among  them 
Faith,  zeal,  and  love,  kindled  a  fire. 
And  I  prayed  for  his  happiness 
Who  knew  not ;  was  my  error  this  ? 

I  only  prayed  that  in  the  end 

His  trust  and  hope  may  not  be  vain ; 
I  prayed  not  we  may  meet  again  : 


I 


THREE  NUiXS  31 

I  would  not  let  our  names  ascend, 

No  not  to  Heaven,  in  the  same  breath ; 

Nor  will  I  join  the  two  in  death. 

Oh  sweet  is  death,  for  I  am  weak 

And  weary,  and  it  giveth  rest. 

The  crucifix  Hes  on  my  breast. 
And  all  night  long  it  seems  to  speak 
Of  rest ;  I  hear  it  through  my  sleep, 
And  the  great  comfort  makes  me  weep. 

Oh  sweet  is  death  that  bindeth  up 
The  broken  and  the  bleeding  heart. 
The  draught  chilled,  but  a  cordial  part 

Lurked  at  the  bottom  of  the  cup ; 

And  for  my  patience  will  my  Lord 

Give  an  exceeding  great  reward. 

Yea  the  reward  is  almost  w^on, 

A  crown  of  glory  and  a  palm. 

Soon  I  shall  sing  the  unknown  psalm ; 
Soon  gaze  on  light,  not  on  the  sun ; 
And  soon  with  surer  faith  shall  pray 
For  him,  and  cease  not  night  nor  day. 

My  life  is  breaking  like  a  cloud  — 

God  judgeth  not  as  man  doth  judge  — 
Nay,  bear  with  me  :  you  need  not  grudge 

This  peace  ;  the  vows  that  I  have  vowed 


32  THREE  NUNS 

Have  all  been  kept :   Eternal  Strength 
Holds  me,  though  mine  own  fails  at  length. 

Bury  me  in  the  Convent-ground 
Among  the  flowers  that  are  so  sweet ; 
And  lay  a  green  turf  at  my  feet, 

Where  thick  trees  cast  a  gloom  around ; 

At  my  head  let  a  cross  be,  white 

Through  the  long  blackness  of  the  night. 

Now  kneel  and  pray  beside  my  bed 
That  I  may  sleep  being  free  from  pain ; 
And  pray  that  I  may  wake  again 
After  His  likeness  who  hath  said 
(Faithful  is  He  who  promiseth) 
We  shall  be  satisfied  therewith. 


m 

Rispondimi,  cor  mio, 
Perche  sospiri  tu  ? 

Risponde  :  Voglio  Dio, 
Sospiro  per  Gesu. 

My  heart  is  as  a  freeborn  bird 
Caged  in  my  cruel  breast, 

That  flutters,  flutters  evermore. 
Nor  sings  nor  is  at  rest, 

But  beats  against  the  prison  bars. 
As  knowing  its  own  nest 

Far  off  beyond  the  clouded  west. 


THREE  NUNS  33 

My  soul  is  as  a  hidden  fount 

Shut  in  by  clammy  clay, 
That  struggles  with  an  upward  moan, 

Striving  to  force  its  way 
Up  through  the  turf,  over  the  grass, 

Up  up  into  the  day 
Where  twilight  no  more  turneth  grey 

Oh  for  the  grapes  of  the  True  Vine 

Growing  in  Paradise, 
Whose  tendrils  join  the  Tree  of  Life 

To  that  which  maketh  wise  — 
Growing  beside  the  Living  Well 

Whose  sweetest  waters  rise 
Where  tears  are  wiped  from  tearful  eyes  ! 

Oh  for  the  waters  of  that  Well 
Round  which  the  Angels  stand  — 

Oh  for  the  Shadow  of  the  Rock 
On  my  heart's  weary  land  — 

Oh  for  the  Voice  to  guide  me  when 
I  turn  to  either  hand, 

Guiding  me  till  I  reach  Heaven's  strand  ! 

Thou  world  from  which  I  am  come  out, 

Keep  all  thy  gems  and  gold  ; 
Keep  thy  delights  and  precious  things. 

Thou  that  art  waxing  old. 
My  heart  shall  beat  with  a  new  life 

When  thine  is  dead  and  cold; 
When  thou  dost  fear  I  shall  be  bold. 


34  THREE  NUNS 

When  Earth  shall  pass  away  with  all 
Her  pride  and  pomp  of  sin, 

The  City  builded  without  hands 
Shall  safely  shut  me  in. 

All  the  rest  is  but  vanity 
Which  others  strive  to  win  : 

Where  their  hopes  end  my  joys  begin. 

I  will  not  look  upon  a  rose 
Though  it  is  fair  to  see  : 

The  flowers  planted  in  Paradise 
Are  budding  now  for  me  : 

Red  roses  like  love  visible 
Are  blowing  on  their  tree, 

Or  white  like  virgin  purity. 

I  will  not  look  unto  the  sun 
Which  setteth  night  by  night : 

In  the  untrodden  courts  of  heaven 
My  crown  shall  be  more  bright. 

Lo  in  the  New  Jerusalem 
Founded  and  built  aright 

My  very  feet  shall  tread  on  hght. 

With  fooHsh  riches  of  this  world 
I  have  bought  treasure  where 

Nought  perisheth  :  for  this  white  veil 
I  gave  my  golden  hair ; 

I  gave  the  beauty  of  my  face 
For  vigils,  fasts,  and  prayer ; 

I  gave  all  for  this  cross  I  bear. 


THREE  NUNS  35 

My  heart  trembled  when  first  I  took 

The  vows  which  must  be  kept. 
At  first  it  was  a  weariness 

To  watch  when  once  I  slept : 
The  path  was  rough  and  sharp  with  thorns ; 

My  feet  bled  as  I  stept ; 
The  cross  was  heavy  and  I  wept. 

While  still  the  names  rang  in  mine  ears 

Of  daughter,  sister,  wife. 
The  outside  world  still  looked  so  fair 

To  my  weak  eyes,  and  rife 
With  beauty,  my  heart  almost  failed ; 

Then  in  the  desperate  strife 
I  prayed,  as  one  who  prays  for  life,  • 

Until  I  grew  to  love  what  once 

Had  been  so  burdensome. 
So  now,  when  I  am  faint  because 

Hope  deferred  seems  to  numb 
My  heart,  I  yet  can  plead,  and  say, 

Although  my  lips  are  dumb  — 
The  Spirit  and  the  Bride  say,  Come. 

12  February  1849  to  10  May  1 850. 


36  THE  EiYD   OF  THE  FIRST  PART 


THE   END   OF   THE   FIRST   PART 

MY  happy  happy  dream  is  finished  with, 
My  dream  in  which  alone  I  Hved  so  long. 
My  heart  slept  —  woe  is  me,  it  wakeneth ; 
Was  weak  —  I  thought  it  strong. 

Oh  weary  wakening  from  a  life- true  dream  ! 

Oh  pleasant  dream  from  which  I  wake  in  pain  ! 
I  rested  all  my  trust  on  things  that  seem, 
And  all  my  trust  is  vain. 

I  must  pull  down  my  palace  that  I  built. 

Dig  up  the  pleasure-gardens  of  my  soul ; 
Must  change  my  laughter  to  sad  tears  for  guilt, 
My  freedom  to  control. 

Now  all  the  cherished  secrets  of  my  heart. 

Now  all  my  hidden  hopes,  are  turned  to  sin. 
Part  of  my  life  is  dead,  part  sick,  and  part 
Is  all  on  fire  within. 

The  fruitless  thought  of  what  I  might  have  been. 

Haunting  me  ever,  will  not  let  me  rest. 
A  cold  North  wind  has  withered  all  my  green, 
My  sun  is  in  the  West. 


THV  ENIGMAS  37 

But,  where  my  palace  stood,  with  the  same  stone 

I  will  uprear  a  shady  hermitage  : 
And  there  my  spirit  shall  keep  house  alone, 
Accomplishing  its  age. 

There  other  garden-beds  shall  lie  around, 

Full  of  sweet-briar  and  incense-bearing  thyme  : 
There  I  will  sit,  and  listen  for  the  sound 
Of  the  last  lingering  chime. 

18  April  1849. 


TWO   ENIGMAS 


NAME  any  gentleman  you  spy. 
And  there's  a  chance  that  he  is  I. 
Go  out  to  angle,  and  you  may 
Catch  me  on  a  propitious  day. 
Booted  and  spurred,  their  journey  ended, 
The  weary  are  by  me  befriended. 
If  roasted  meat  should  be  your  wish, 
I  am  more  needful  than  a  dish. 
I  am  acknowledgedly  poor ; 
Yet  my  resources  are  no  fewer 
Than  all  the  trades  —  there  is  not  one 
But  I  profess,  beneath  the  sun. 


38  TIVO   CHARADES 

I  bear  a  part  in  many  a  game  ; 
My  worth  may  change,  I  am  the  same : 
Sometimes,  by  you  expelled,  I  roam 
Forth  from  the  sanctuary  of  home. 


Me  you  often  meet 

In  London's  crowded  street, 
And  merry  children's  voices  my  resting-place  proclaim. 

Pictures  and  prose  and  verse 

Compose  me  —  I  rehearse 
Evil  and  good  and  folly,  and  call  each  by  its  name. 

I  make  men  glad,  and  I 

Can  bid  their  senses  fly, 
And  festive  echoes  know  me  of  Isis  and  of  Cam. 

But  give  me  to  a  friend. 

And  amity  will  end, 
Though  he  may  have  the  temper  and  meekness  of  a 
lamb. 
Spring  1849. 

TWO   CHARADES 

I 

MY  first  is  no  proof  of  my  second, 
Though  my  second's  a  proof  of  my  first. 
If  I  were  my  whole,  I  should  tell  you 
Quite  freely  my  best  and  my  worst. 


7JrO    CHARADES  39 

One  clue  more  :  —  If  you  fail  to  discover 
My  meaning,  you're  blind  as  a  mole  ; 

But,  if  you  will  frankly  confess  it, 
You  show  yourself  clearly  my  whole. 


How  many  authors  are  my  first  ! 

And  I  shall  be  so  too 
Unless  I  finish  speedily 

That  w^hich  I  have  to  do. 

My  second  is  a  lofty  tree 
And  a  deHcious  fruit ; 

This  in  the  hot-house  flourishes - 
That  amid  rocks  takes  root.  ' 

My  w^hole  is  an  immortal  queen 
Renowned  in  classic  lore  : 

Her  a  god  won  without  her  will, 
And  her  a  goddess  bore. 

Spring  1849. 


40  LOOKING  FORWARD 


LOOKING   FORWARD 

SLEEP,  let  me  sleep,  for  I  am  sick  of  care ; 
Sleep,  let  me  sleep,  for  my  pain  wearies  me. 
Shut  out  the  light ;  thicken  the  heavy  air 
With  drowsy  incense ;  let  a  distant  stream 
Of  music  lull  me,  languid  as  a  dream. 
Soft  as  the  whisper  of  a  summer  sea. 

Pluck  me  no  rose  that  groweth  on  a  thorn. 
Nor  myrtle  white  and  cold  as  snow  in  June, 

Fit  for  a  virgin  on  her  marriage  morn  : 

But  bring  me  poppies  brimmed  with  sleepy  death, 

And  ivy  choking  what  it  garlandeth. 
And  primroses  that  open  to  the  moon. 

Listen,  the  music  swells  into  a  song, 

A  simple  song  I  loved  in  days  of  yore ; 
The  echoes  take  it  up  and  up  along 
The  hills,  and  the  wind  blows  it  back  again.  — 
Peace,  peace,  there  is  a  memory  in  that  strain 
Of  happy  days  that  shall  return  no  more. 

Oh  peace  !  your  music  wakeneth  old  thought. 
But  not  old  hope  that  made  my  life  so  sweet, 

Only  the  longing  that  must  end  in  nought. 

Have  patience  with  me,  friends,  a  little  while  : 

For  soon,  where  you  shall  dance  and  sing  and  smile. 
My  quickened  dust  may  blossom  at  your  feet. 


LIFE  HIDDEN'.  41 

Sweet  thought  that  I  may  yet  Hve  and  grow  green, 
That  leaves  may  yet  spring  from  the  withered  root, 

And  birds  and  flowers  and  berries  half  unseen ; 

Then,  if  you  haply  muse  upon  the  past. 

Say  this  :  Poor  child,  she  has  her  wish  at  last ; 
Barren  through  life,  but  in  death  bearing  fruit. 

%  June  1849. 


LIFE   HIDDEN 

ROSES  and  lilies  grow  above  the  place 
Where  she  sleeps  the  long  sleep  that  doth  not 
dream. 
If  we  could  look  upon  her  hidden  face. 

Nor  shadow  would  be  there,  nor  garish  gleam 
Of  light ;  her  life  is  lapsing  like  a  stream 
That  makes  no  noise  but  floweth  on  apace 

Seawards,  while  many  a  shade  and  shady  beam 
Vary  the  ripples  in  their  gliding  chase. 
She  doth  not  see,  but  knows  ;  she  doth  not  feel. 
And  yet  is  sensible  ;  she  hears  no  sound, 

Yet  counts  the  flight  of  time  and  doth  not  err. 
Peace  far  and  near,  peace  to  ourselves  and  her : 
Her  body  is  at  peace  in  holy  ground, 
Her  spirit  is  at  peace  where  Angels  kneel. 

21  July  1849. 


42  QUEEN  ROSE 


QUEEN  ROSE 

THE  jessamine  shows  like  a  star; 
The  lihes  sway  Hke  sceptres  slim ; 
Fair  clematis  from  near  and  far 

Sets  from  forth  its  wayward  tangled  whim  ; 
Curved  meadowsweet  blooms  rich  and  dim ;  - 
But  yet  a  rose  is  fairer  far. 

The  jessamine  is  odorous  ;  so 

jNlaid-lilies  are,  and  clematis ; 
And  where  tall  meadowsweet- flowers  grow 

A  rare  and  subtle  perfume  is ;  — 

What  can  there  be  more  choice  than  these  ?- 
A  rose  when  it  doth  bud  and  blow. 

Let  others  choose  sweet  jessamine, 

Or  weave  their  lily- crown  aright, 
And  let  who  love  it  pluck  and  twine 

Loose  clematis,  or  draw  delight 

From  meadowsweets'  cluster  downy  white — 
The  rose,  the  perfect  rose,  be  mine. 

1 6  August  1849. 


HOW  ONE  CHOSE  43 


HOW   ONE   CHOSE 

'^  T3EYOND  the  sea,  in  a  green  land 
J3     Where  only  rivers  are  — 

Beyond  the  clouds,  in  the  clear  sky 
Close  by  some  quiet  star  — 

Could  you  not  fancy  there  might  be 

A  home.  Beloved,  for  you  and  me?" 

"  If  there  were  such  a  home,  my  Friend, 

Truly  prepared  for  us. 
Full  of  palm -branches  or  of  crowns, 

Sun-gemmed  and  glorious. 
How  should  we  reach  it  ?     Let  us  cease 
From  longing;  let  us  be  at  peace." 

"  The  nightingale  sang  yestereve  ; 

A  sweet  song  singeth  she. 
Most  sad  and  without  any  hope, 

And  full  of  memory ; 
But  still  methought  it  seemed  to  speak 
To  me  of  home,  and  bid  me  seek." 

^^  The  nightingale  ceased  ere  the  morn : 
Her  heart  could  not  contain 

The  passion  of  her  song,  but  burst 
With  the  loud  throbbing  pain. 

Now  she  hath  rest  which  is  the  best, 

And  now  I  too  would  be  at  rest." 


44  HOW  ONE   CHOSE 

^'  Last  night  I  watched  the  mounting  moon : 

Her  glory  was  too  pale 
To  shine  through  the  black  heavy  clouds 

That  wrapt  her  like  a  veil ; 
And  yet  with  patience  she  passed  through 
The  mists,  and  reached  the  depths  of  blue." 

"  And  when  the  road  was  travelled  o'er 

And  when  the  goal  was  won, 
A  little  while  and  all  her  light 

Was  swallowed  by  the  sun  : 
The  weary  moon  must  seek  again,  — 
Even  so  our  search  would  be  in  vain." 

'^  Yet  seek  with  me.     And  if  our  way 

Be  long  and  troublesome, 
And  if  our  noon  be  hot  until 

The  chilly  shadows  come 
Of  evening,  —  till  those  shadows  flee 
In  dawn,  think,  Love,  it  is  with  me." 

"  Nay  seek  alone  :  I  am  no  mate 

For  such  as  you,  in  truth : 
My  heart  is  old  before  its  time ; 

Yours  yet  is  in  its  youth  : 
This  home  with  pleasures  girt  about 
Seek  you,  for  I  am  wearied  out." 

6  October  1849, 


SEEKING  REST  45 


SEEKING   REST 


MY  Mother  said  :  "  The  child  is  changed 
That  used  to  be  so  still ; 
All  the  day  long  she  sings  and  sings, 

And  seems  to  think  no  ill ; 
She  laughs  as  if  some  inward  joy 
Her  heart  would  overfill." 

My  Sisters  said  :  "  Now  prythee  tell 

Thy  secret  unto  us  : 
Let  us  rejoice  with  thee  ;  for  all 

Is  surely  prosperous, 
Thou  art  so  merry  :  tell  us.  Sweet : 

We  had  not  used  thee  thus." 

My  Mother  says  :  "What  ails  the  child 

Lately  so  blythe  of  cheer? 
Art  sick  or  sorry?     Nay,  it  is 

The  winter  of  the  year ; 
Wait  till  the  Springtime  comes  again, 

And  the  sweet  flowers  appear." 

My  Sisters  say  :  "  Come,  sit  with  us. 

That  we  may  weep  with  thee  : 
Show  us  thy  grief  that  we  may  grieve 

Yea  haply,  if  we  see 
Thy  sorrow,  we  may  ease  it ;  but 

Shall  share  it  certainly." 


46  TIVO   THOUGHTS   OF  DEATH 

How  should  I  share  my  pain,  who  kept 
My  pleasure  all  my  own? 

My  Spring  will  never  come  again ; 
My  pretty  flowers  have  blown 

For  the  last  time ;  I  can  but  sit 
And  think  and  weep  alone. 

10  October  1849. 


TWO   THOUGHTS   OF   DEATH 


HER  heart  that  loved  me  once  is  rottenness 
Now  and  corruption ;  and  her  Hfe  is  dead 

That  was  to  have  been  one  with  mine,  she  said. 
The  earth  must  lie  with  such  a  cruel  stress 
On  eyes  whereon  the  white  lids  used  to  press ; 

Foul  worms  fill  up  her  mouth  so  sweet  and  red ; 

Foul  worms  are  underneath  her  graceful  head ; 
Yet  these,  being  born  of  her  from  nothingness. 
These  worms  are  certainly  flesh  of  her  flesh.  — 

How  is  it  that  the  grass  is  rank  and  green 
And  the  dew-dropping  rose  is  brave  and  fresh 
Above  what  was  so  sweeter  far  than  they  ? 
Even  as  her  beauty  hath  passed  quite  away. 

Theirs  too  shall  be  as  though  it  had  not  been. 


THREE  MOMENTS  47 

II 

So  I  said  underneath  the  dusky  trees : 
But,  because  still  I  loved  her  memory, 
I  stooped  to  pluck  a  pale  anemone. 

And  lo  my  hand  lighted  upon  heartsease 

Not  fully  blown  :  while  with  new  life  from  these 
Fluttered  a  starry  moth  that  rapidly 
Rose  toward  the  sun  :  sunlighted  flashed  on  me 

Its  wings  that  seemed  to  throb  Hke  heart-pulses. 

Far  far  away  it  flew,  far  out  of  sight,  — 

From  earth  and  flowers  of  earth  it  passed  away 

As  though  it  flew  straight  up  into  the  light. 

Then  my  heart  answered  me  :  Thou  fool,  to  say 
That  she  is  dead  whose  night  is  turned  to  day. 

And  no  more  shall  her  day  turn  back  to  night. 

16  March  1 850. 

THREE   MOMENTS 

THE  Child  said  :  ''  Pretty  bird, 
Come  back  and  play  with  me." 
The  Bird  said  :  ^'  It  is  in  vain, 

For  I  am  free. 
I  am  free,  I  will  not  stay, 
But  will  fly  far  away. 
In  the  woods  to  sing  and  play. 

Far  away,  far  away." 
The  Child  sought  her  Mother : 
"  I  have  lost  my  bird,"  said  she, 


THREE  MOMENTS 

Weeping  bitterly. 
But  the  Mother  made  her  answer, 
Half  sighing  pityingly, 
Half  smiling  cheerily  : 
'*  Though  thy  bird  come  nevermore, 

Do  not  weep ; 
Find  another  playfellow 

Child,  and  keep 
Tears  for  future  pain  more  deep." 

*'  Sweet  rose,  do  not  wither," 
The  Girl  said. 
But  a  blight  had  touched  its  heart 
And  it  drooped  its  crimson  head. 
In  the  morning  it  had  opened 

Full  of  life  and  bloom, 
But  the  leaves  fell  one  by  one 

Till  the  twilight  gloom. 

One  by  one  the  leaves  fell 
By  summer  winds  blown  from  their  stem ; 
They  fell  upon  the  dewy  earth 
Which  nourished  once  now  tainted  them. 

Again  the  young  Girl  wept 

And  sought  her  ■Mother's  ear  : 
"  My  rose  is  dead  so  full  of  grace, 
The  very  rose  I  meant  to  place 

In  the  wreath  that  I  wear." 
^'  Nay,  never  weep  for  such  as  this," 

The  Mother  answered  her  : 
*'  But  weave  another  crown,  less  fair 


THREE  MOMEIVTS  49 

Perhaps,  but  fitter  for  thy  hair. 
And  keep  thy  tears,"  the  Mother  said, 
"  For  something  heavier." 

The  Woman  knelt,  but  did  not  pray 

Nor  weep  nor  cry  ;  she  only  said  : 

"  Not  this,  not  this  !  "  and  clasped  her  hands 

Against  her  heart,  and  bowed  her  head. 

While  the  great  struggle  shook  the  bed. 

"  Not  this,  not  this  !  "  tears  did  not  fall ; 

"Not  this  !"  it  was  all 

She  could  say ;  no  sobs  would  come  ; 

The  mortal  grief  was  almost  dumb.  — 

At  length  when  it  was  over,  when 

She  knew  it  was  and  would  be  so. 

She  cried  :  "  O  ]^Iother,  where  are  they, 

The  tears  that  used  to  flow 
So  easily?     One  single  drop 
Might  save  my  reason  now,  or  stop 
My  heart  from  breaking.     Blessed  tears 

Wasted  in  former  years  !  " 
Then  the  grave  Mother  made  reply : 
^'  O  Daughter  mine,  be  of  good  cheer, 
Rejoicing  thou  canst  shed  no  tear. 
Thy  pain  is  almost  over  now. 
Once  more  thy  heart  shall  throb  with  pain. 
But  then  shall  never  throb  again. 
Oh  happy  thou  who  canst  not  weep, 
Oh  happy  thou  !  " 

23  March  1 850. 
E 


so  /S  AND    WAS 


IS   AND   WAS 

SHE  was  whiter  than  the  ermine 
That  half  shadowed  neck  and  hand, 
And  her  tresses  were  more  golden 

Than  their  golden  band  ; 
Snowy  ostrich  plumes  she  wore; 
Yet  I  almost  loved  her  more 
In  the  simple  time  before. 

Then  she  plucked  the  stately  lilies 
Knowing  not  she  was  more  fair, 
And  she  listened  to  the  skylark 

In  the  morning  air. 
Then,  a  kerchief  all  her  crown, 
She  looked  for  the  acorns  brown. 
Bent  their  bough,  and  shook  them  down. 

Then  she  thought  of  Christmas  holly 
And  of  Maybloom  in  sweet  May ; 
Then  she  loved  to  pick  the  cherries 

And  to  turn  the  hay. 
She  was  humble  then  and  meek. 
And  the  blush  upon  her  cheek 
Told  of  much  she  could  not  speak. 


SONG  51 

Now  she  is  a  noble  lady 

With  calm  voice  not  over  loud ; 

Very  courteous  in  her  action, 

Yet  you  think  her  proud ; 
Much  too  haughty  to  affect ; 
Too  indifferent  to  direct 
Or  be  angry  or  suspect ; 
Doing  all  from  self-respect. 

Spring  1850. 


SONG 

WE  buried  her  among  the  flowers 
At  falling  of  the  leaf, 
And  choked  back  all  our  tears  ;  her  joy 
Could  never  be  our  grief. 

She  lies  among  the  living  flowers 

And  grass,  the  only  thing 
That  perishes  ;  —  or  is  it  that 

Our  Autumn  was  her  Spring  ? 

Doubtless,  if  we  could  see  her  face, 

The  smile  is  settled  there 
Which  almost  broke  our  hearts  when  last 

We  knelt  by  her  in  prayer ; 


2  ANNIE 

When,  with  tired  eyes  and  failing  breath 
And  hands  crossed  on  her  breast, 

Perhaps  she  saw  her  Guardian  spread 
His  wings  above  her  rest. 

So  she  sleeps  hidden  in  the  flowers ; 

But  yet  a  httle  while. 
And  we  shall  see  her  wake  and  rise, 

Fair,  with  the  self-same  smile. 
14  May  1850. 


ANNIE 

ANNIE  is  fairer  than  her  kith 
And  kinder  than  her  kin  : 
Her  eyes  are  Hke  the  open  heaven 

Holy  and  pure  from  sin  : 
Her  heart  is  like  an  ordered  house 

Good  fairies  harbour  in  : 
Oh  happy  he  who  wins  the  love 
That  I  can  never  win  ! 

Her  sisters  stand  as  hyacinths 

Around  the  perfect  rose  : 
They  bloom  and  open  to  the  full, 

j\Iy  bud  will  scarce  unclose. 
They  are  for  every  butterfly 

That  comes  and  sips  and  goes ; 
I\Iy  bud  hides  in  the  tender  green 

Most  sweet  and  hardly  shows. 


ANNIE  53 

Oh  cruel  kindness  in  soft  eyes 

That  are  no  more  than  kind, 
On  which  I  gaze  my  heart  away 

Till  the  tears  make  me  blind  ! 
How  is  it  others  find  the  way 

That  I  can  never  find 
To  make  her  laugh  that  sweetest  laugh 

Which  leaves  all  else  behind? 

Her  hair  is  Hke  the  golden  corn 

A  low  wind  breathes  upon  : 
Or  like  the  golden  harvest-moon 

When  all  the  mists  are  gone  : 
Or  like  a  stream  with  golden  sands 

On  which  the  sun  has  shone 
Day  after  day  in  summertime 

Ere  autumn  leaves  are  wan. 

I  will  not  tell  her  that  I  love, 

Lest  she  should  turn  away 
With  sorrow  in  her  tender  heart 

Which  now  is  light  and  gay. 
I  will  not  tell  her  that  I  love, 

Lest  she  should  turn  and  say 
That  we  must  meet  no  more  again 

For  many  a  weary  day. 
26  September  1850. 


54  A  DIRGE 


A  DIRGE 


SHE  was  as  sweet  as  violets  in  the  Spring, 
As  fair  as  any  rose  in  Summertime  : 
But  frail  are  roses  in  their  prime 
And  violets  in  their  blossoming. 
Even  so  was  she  : 
And  now  she  lies, 
The  earth  upon  her  fast-closed  eyes, 
Dead  in  the  darkness  silently. 

The  sweet  Spring  violets  never  bud  again, 
The  roses  bloom  and  perish  in  a  morn  : 
They  see  no  second  quickening  lying  lorn  : 
Their  beauty  dies  as  though  in  vain. 
Must  she  die  so 
For  evermore, 
Cold  as  the  sand  upon  the  shore, 
As  passionless  for  joy  and  woe?  — 

Nay  she  is  worth  much  more  than  flowers  that  fade. 
And  yet  shall  be  made  fair  with  purple  fruit : 
Branch  of  the  Living  Vine,  whose  Root 
From  all  eternity  is  laid. 
Another  Sun 
Than  this  of  ours 
Has  withered  up  indeed  her  flowers 
But  ripened  her  grapes  every  one. 
\?i  January  1 851. 


SONG  55 


SONG 

IT  is  not  for  her  even  brow 
And  shining  yellow  hair, 
But  it  is  for  her  tender  eyes 

I  think  my  love  so  fair  : 
Her  tell-tale  eyes  that  smile  and  weep 
As  frankly  as  they  wake  and  sleep. 

It  is  not  for  her  rounded  cheek 

I  love  and  fain  would  win, 
But  it  is  for  the  blush  that  comes 

Straight  from  the  heart  within  : 
The  honest  blush  of  maiden  shame 
That  blushes  without  thought  of  blame. 

So  in  my  dreams  I  never  hear 
Her  song,  although  she  sings 

As  if  a  choir  of  spirits  swept 

From  earth  with  throbbing  wings  : 

I  only  hear  the  simple  voice 

Whose  love  makes  many  hearts  rejoice. 


1851. 


56       BOOKS  IiY  THE  RUXNIXG  BROOKS 


A   FAIR   WORLD   THOUGH   A   FALLEN 

YOU  tell  me  that  the  world  is  fair,  in  spite 
Of  the  old  Fall ;  and  that  I  should  not  turn 
So  to  the  grave,  and  let  my  spirit  yearn 
After  the  quiet  of  the  long  last  night. 
Have  I  then  shut  mine  eyes  against  the  light, 
Grief-deafened  lest  my  spirit  should  discern? 
Yet  how  could  I  keep  silence  when  I  burn? 
And  who  can  give  me  comfort? — Hear  the  right. 
Have  patience  with  the  weak  and  sick  at  heart : 
Bind  up  the  wounded  with  a  tender  touch, 
Comfort  the  sad,  tear-blinded  as  they  go  :  — 
For,  though  I  failed  to  choose  the  better  part. 
Were  it  a  less  unutterable  woe 
If  we  should  come  to  love  this  world  too  much  ? 
30  August  1 85 1. 


BOOKS  IN   THE   RUNNING   BROOKS 

"  TT  is  enough,  enough,"  one  said, 
jL     At  play  among  the  flowers  : 

"  I  spy  a  rose  upon  the  thorn, 
A  rainbow  in  the  showers ; 

I  hear  a  merry  chime  of  bells 
Ring  out  the  passing  hours," 


BOOKS  IX  THE  RUNNING   BROOKS       si 

Soft  springs  the  fountain 
From  the  daisied  ground, 
Softly  falHng  on  the  moss 
Without  a  sound. 

'^  It  is  enough,"  she  said,  and  fixed 

Cahn  eyes  upon  the  sky  : 
"  I  watch  a  flitting  tender  cloud 

Just  like  a  dove  go  by ; 
A  lark  is  rising  from  the  grass, 

A  wren  is  building  nigh." 
Softly  the  fountain 

Threads  its  silver  way. 

Screened  by  the  scented  bloom 
Of  whitest  May. 

^^  Enough?"  she  whispered  to  herself. 

As  doubting  :  "  Is  it  so  ? 
Enough  to  wear  the  roses  fair, 

O  sweetest  flowers  that  blow? 
Oh  yes,  it  surely  is  enough  — 

My  happy  home  below  !  " 
A  shadow  stretcheth 

From  the  hither  shore  : 
The  waters  darken 

More  and  more  and  more. 

"  It  is  enough,"  she  says  ;  but  with 

A  listless  weary  moan  : 
^'  Enough,"  if  mixing  with  her  friends  : 

"  Enough,"  if  left  alone  ; 


55       BOOKS  IN  THE  RUNNING  BROOKS 

But  to  herself:  "•  Not  yet  enough 
This  suffering,  to  atone?" 

The  cold  black  waters 
Seem  to  stagnate  there, 
Without  a  single  wave 

Or  breath  of  air. 

And  now  she  says  :  ^'  It  is  enough/"' 

Half  languid  and  half  stirred  : 
"  Enough,"  to  silence  and  to  sound, 

Thorn,  blossom,  soaring  bird  : 
"  Enough,"  she  says  ;  but  with  a  lack 

Of  something  in  the  word. 
Defiled  and  turbid 

See  the  waters  pass. 
Half  light,  half  shadow, 

Struggling  through  the  grass. 

Ah  will  it  ever  dawn,  that  day 
When,  calm  for  good  or  ill. 
Her  heart  shall  say  :  ''  It  is  enough. 

For  Thou  art  with  me  still ; 
It  is  enough,  O  Lord  my  God, 
Thine  only  blessed  Will"? 
Then  shall  the  fountain  sing 
And  flow  to  rest, 
Clear  as  the  sun-track 
To  the  purple  West. 
26  August  1852. 


AFTER   ALL 


59 


THE   SUMMER   IS   ENDED 

WREATHE  no  more  lilies  in  my  hair, 
For  I  am  dying,  Sister  sweet : 
Or,  if  you  will  for  the  last  time 
Indeed,  why  make  me  fair 
Once  for  my  winding-sheet. 

Pluck  no  more  roses  for  my  breast, 
For  I  like  them  fade  in  my  prime  : 
Or,  if  you  will,  why  pluck  them  still, 

That  they  may  share  my  rest 

Once  more  for  the  last  time. 

Weep  not  for  me  when  I  am  gone, 
Dear  tender  one,  but  hope  and  smile  : 
Or,  if  you  cannot  choose  but  weep, 

A  little  while  weep  on, 

Only  a  little  while. 
II  September  1852. 

AFTER   ALL 

I    THOUGHT   your  search  was  over."  — "So 
thought." 
"  But  you  are  seeking  still."  —  "  Yes,  even  so  : 
Still  seeking  in  mine  own  despite  below 
That  which  in  heaven  alone  is  found  unsought : 
Still  spending  for  that  thing  which  is  not  bought." 


6o  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE 

''  Then  chase  no  more  this  shifting  empty  show."  - 

*^  Amen  :  so  bid  a  drowning  man  forego 
The  straw  he  clutches  :  will  he  so  be  taught? 
You  have  a  home  where  peace  broods  like  a  dove, 

Screened  from  the  weary  world's  loud  discontent : 
You  have  home  here  :  you  wait  for  home  above. 

I  must  unlearn  the  pleasant  ways  I  went : 
Must  learn  another  hope,  another  love, 

And  sigh  indeed  for  home  in  banishment." 

24  October  1852. 


FROM  THE  ANTIQUE 

THE  wind  shall  lull  us  yet, 
The  flowers  shall  spring  above  us  : 
And  those  who  hate  forget, 
And  those  forget  who  love  us. 

The  pulse  of  hope  shall  cease. 

Of  joy  and  of  regretting  : 
We  twain  shall  sleep  in  peace, 

Forgotten  and  forgetting. 

For  us  no  sun  shall  rise, 

Nor  wind  rejoice,  nor  river. 
Where  we  with  fast-closed  eyes 
Shall  sleep  and  sleep  for  ever. 
10  December  1852. 


TO    WHAT  PURPOSE  IS   THIS    WASTE?    6i 


TO   WHAT   PURPOSE    IS   THIS   WASTE? 

A  WINDY  shell  singing  upon  the  shore  : 
A  lily  budding  in  a  desert  place, 
Blooming  alone 
With  no  companion 
To  praise  its  perfect  perfume  and  its  grace  : 
A  rose  crimson  and  blushing  at  the  core, 
Hedged-in  with  thorns  behind  it  and  before  : 
A  fountain  in  the  grass. 
Whose  shadowy  waters  pass 
Only  to  nourish  birds  and  furnish  food 

For  squirrels  of  the  wood  : 
An  oak  deep  in  the  forest's  heart,  the  house 

Of  black-eyed  tiny  mouse  : 
Its  strong  roots,  fit  for  fuel,  roofing  in 

The  hoarded  nuts,  acorns,  and  grains  of  wheat  — 
Shutting  them  from  the  wind  and  scorching  heat, 
And  sheltering  them  when  the  rains  begin : 

A  precious  pearl  deep-buried  in  the  sea 
Where  none  save  fishes  be  : 
The  fullest  merriest  note 
For  which  the  skylark  strains  his  silver  throat. 
Heard  only  in  the  sky 
By  other  birds  that  fitfully 
Chase  one  another  as  they  fly : 


62     TO    WHAT  PURPOSE  IS   THIS    WASTE? 

The  ripest  plum  down-tumbled  to  the  ground 
By  southern  winds  most  musical  of  sound, 

But  by  no  thirsty  traveller  found  : 
Honey  of  wild  bees  in  their  ordered  cells 

Stored,  not  for  human  mouths  to  taste  :  — 
I  said  smiling  superior  down  :  What  waste 
Of  good,  where  no  man  dwells  ! 

This  I  said  on  a  pleasant  day  in  June 
Before  the  sun  had  set,  though  a  white  moon 
Already  flaked  the  quiet  blue 

Which  not  a  star  looked  through. 
But  still  the  air  was  warm,  and  drowsily 

It  blew  into  my  face  : 
So,  since  that  same  day  I  had  wandered  deep 
Into  the  country,  I  sought  out  a  place 

For  rest  beneath  a  tree, 
And  very  soon  forgot  myself  in  sleep  : 
Not  so  mine  own  words  had  forgotten  me. 
Mine  eyes  were  open  to  behold 
All  hidden  things. 
And  mine  ears  heard  all  secret  whisperings  : 
So  my  proud  tongue,  that  had  been  bold 
To  carp  and  to  reprove. 
Was  silenced  by  the  force  of  utter  Love. 

All  voices  of  all  things  inanimate 

Join  with  the  song  of  Angels  and  the  song 

Of  blessed  spirits,  chiming  with 
Their  Hallelujahs.     One  wind  wakeneth 


TO    WHAT  PURPOSE  JS   THIS    WASTE?     63 

Across  the  sleeping  sea,  crisping  along 
The  waves,  and  brushes  through  the  great 
Forests  and  tangled  hedges,  and  calls  out 

Of  rivers  a  clear  sound, 
And  makes  the  ripe  corn  rustle  on  the  ground, 
And  murmurs  in  a  shell : 
Till  all  their  voices  swell 
Above  the  clouds  in  one  loud  hymn 
Joining  the  song  of  Seraphim, 
Or  like  pure  incense  circle  roundabout 
The  walls  of  heaven,  or  like  a  well-spring  rise 
In  shady  Paradise. 

A  lily  blossoming  unseen 
Holds  honey  in  its  silver  cup 

Whereon  a  bee  may  sup. 
Till  being  full  she  takes  the  rest 
And  stores  it  in  her  waxen  nest : 
While  the  fair  blossom  lifted  up 
On  its  one  stately  stem  of  green 
Is  type  of  her  the  Undefiled, 
Arrayed  in  white,  whose  eyes  are  mild 
As  a  white  dove's,  whose  garment  is 
Blood-cleansed  from  all  impurities 

And  earthly  taints. 
Her  robe  the  righteousness  of  Saints. 

And  other  eyes  than  ours 
Were  made  to  look  on  flowers, 
Eyes  of  small  birds  and  insects  small : 


64      TO   WHAT  PURPOSE  IS  THIS  WASTE? 

The  deep  sun-blushing  rose 
Round  which  the  prickles  close 
Opens  her  bosom  to  them  all. 
The  tiniest  living  thing 
That  soars  on  feathered  wing, 
Or  crawls  among  the  long  grass  out  of  sight, 

Has  just  as  good  a  right 
To  its  appointed  portion  of  delight 
As  any  King. 

Why  should  we  grudge  a  hidden  water-stream 
To  birds  and  squirrels  while  we  have  enough? 
As  if  a  nightingale  should  cease  to  sing 
Lest  we  should  hear,  or  finch  leafed  out  of  sight 

Warbling  its  fill  in  summer  light : 

As  if  sweet  violets  in  the  Spring 
Should  cease  to  blow,  for  fear  our  path  should  seem 
Less  weary  or  less  rough. 

So  every  oak  that  stands  a  house 

For  skilful  mouse 
And  year  by  year  renews  its  strength, 
Shakes  acorns  from  a  hundred  boughs 
Which  shall  be  oaks  at  length. 

Who  hath  weighed  the  waters  and  shall  say 
What  is  hidden  in  the  depths  from  day  ? 
Pearls  and  precious  stones  and  golden  sands. 
Wondrous  weeds  and  blossoms  rare. 
Kept  back  from  human  hands. 
But  good  and  fair, 


TO   WHAT  PURPOSE  IS   THIS   WASTE?      65 

A  silent  praise  as  pain  is  silent  prayer. 

A  hymn  and  incense  rising  toward  the  skies, 

As  our  whole  Hfe  should  rise  : 
An  offering  without  stint  from  earth  below, 

Which  Love  accepteth  so. 

Thus  is  it  with  a  w^arbling  bird. 
With  fruit  bloom-ripe  and  fall  of  seed, 
With  honey  which  the  wild  bees  draw 
From  flowers,  and  store  for  future  need 

By  a  perpetual  law. 
We  want  the  faith  that  hath  not  seen 
Indeed,  but  hath  beheved  His  truth 
Who  witnessed  that  His  work  was  good : 
So  we  pass  cold  to  age  from  youth. 
Alas  for  us,  for  we  have  heard 
And  known,  but  have  not  understood. 

O  earth,  earth,  earth,  thou  yet  shalt  bow 
Who  art  so  fair  and  Hfted  up. 
Thou  yet  shalt  drain  the  bitter  cup. 
Men's  eyes  that  \vait  upon  thee  now. 
All  eyes  shall  see  thee  lost  and  mean. 
Exposed  and  valued  at  thy  worth. 
While  thou  shalt  stand  ashamed  and  dumb. — 
Ah  when  the  Son  of  Man  shall  come. 
Shall  He  find  faith  upon  the  earth? 

22  January  1853. 
F 


66 


NEXT  OF  KIN 


NEXT   OF   KIN 

THE  shadows  gather  round  me,  while  you  are 
in  the  sun  : 
My  day  is  almost  ended,  but  yours  is  just  begun  : 
The  winds  are  singing  to  us  both  and  the  streams  are 
singing  still, 
And  they  fill  your  heart  with  music,  but  mine  they 
cannot  fill. 

Your   home  is  built  in   sunhght,  mine  in  another 
day  : 
Your  home  is  close  at  hand,  sweet  friend,  but  mine 
is  far  away : 
Your  bark  is  in  the  haven  where  you  fain  would  be  : 
I  must  launch  out  into  the  deep,  across  the  unknown 
sea. 

You,  white  as  dove  or  lily  or  spirit  of  the  light : 
I,   stained  and   cold    and   glad  to  hide  in  the   cold 

dark  night : 
You,  joy  to  many  a  loving  heart  and  light  to  many 

eyes  : 
I,  lonely  in  the  knowledge    earth  is  full  of  vanities. 


Yet  when  your  day  is  over,  as  mine  is  nearly  done. 
And  when  your  race  is  finished,  as  mine  is  almost 
run. 


PORTRAITS  67 

You,  like  me,  shall  cross  your  hands  and  bow  your 

graceful  head  : 
Yea,  we  twain  shall  sleep  together  in  an  equal  bed. 

21  February  1853. 


PORTRAITS 

AN  easy  lazy  length  of  limb, 
Dark  eyes  and  features  from  the  South, 
A  short-legged  meditative  pipe 
Set  in  a  superciHous  mouth  : 
Ink  and  a  pen  and  papers  laid 

Down  on  a  table  for  the  night, 
Beside  a  semi-dozing  man 

Who  wakes  to  go  to  bed  by  light. 


A  pair  of  brothers  brotherly. 

Unlike  and  yet  how  much  the  same 
In  heart  and  high-toned  intellect. 

In  face  and  bearing,  hope  and  aim  : 
Friends  of  the  selfsame  treasured  friends 

And  of  one  home  the  dear  delight, 
Beloved  of  many  a  loving  heart, 

And  cherished  both  in  mine,  Good-night. 

9  May  1853. 


68  WHAT? 


WHAT  ? 


STRENGTHENING  as  secret  manna, 
Fostering  as  clouds  above, 
Kind  as  a  hovering  dove, 
Full  as  a  plenteous  river, 
Our  glory  and  our  banner 
For  ever  and  for  ever. 

Dear  as  a  dying  cadence 
Of  music  in  the  drowsy  night : 
Fair  as  the  flowers  v>4iich  maidens 
Pluck  for  an  hour's  dehght, 
And  then  forget  them  quite. 

Gay  as  a  cowslip -meadow 

Fresh  opening  to  the  sun 

When  new  day  is  begun  : 
Soft  as  a  sunny  shadow 

When  day  is  almost  done. 

Glorious  as  purple  twilight, 

Pleasant  as  budding  tree. 
Untouched  as  any  islet 

Shrined  in  an  unknown  sea : 
Sweet  as  a  fragrant  rose  amid  the  dew  :  — 
As  sweet,  as  fruitless  too. 


NEAR   THE  STYX  69 

A  bitter  dream  to  wake  from, 
But  oh  how  pleasant  while  we  dream  ! 
A  poisoned  fount  to  take  from, 
But  oh  how  sweet  the  stream  ! 


May  1853. 


NEAR  THE   STYX 

IN  my  cottage  near  the  Styx 
Co.  and  Charon  still  combine 
Us  to  ferry  o'er  like  bricks 
In  a  boat  of  chaste  design. 
Cerberus,  thou  triple  fair, 
Distance  doth  thy  charms  impair : 
Let  the  passage  give  to  us 
Charon,  Co.,  and  Cerberus. 

Chorus 

Now  the  passage  gives  us  to 
Charon,  Cerberus,  and  Co. 
June  1853 — Frome  Selwood. 


70  HOLY  INNOCENTS 


A   PAUSE 

THEY  made  the  chamber  sweet  with  flowers  and 
leaves, 

And  the  bed  sweet  with  flowers  on  which  I  lay ; 

While  my  soul,  love-bound,  loitered  on  its  way. 
I  did  not  hear  the  birds  about  the  eaves, 
Nor  hear  the  reapers  talk  among  the  sheaves  : 

Only  my  soul  kept  watch  from  day  to  day, 

My  thirsty  soul  kept  watch  for  one  away  :  — 
Perhaps  he  loves,  I  thought,  remembers,  grieves. 
At  length  there  came  a  step  upon  the  stair. 

Upon  the  lock  the  old  familiar  hand  : 
Then  first  my  spirit  seemed  to  scent  the  air 

Of  Paradise ;  then  first  the  tardy  sand 
Of  time  ran  golden  ;  and  I  felt  my  hair 

Put  on  a  glory,  and  my  soul  expand. 

\o  June  1853. 


HOLY   INNOCENTS 

SLEEP,  Httle  Baby,  sleep ; 
The  holy  Angels  love  thee, 
And  guard  thy  bed,  and  keep 
A  blessed  watch  above  thee. 
No  spirit  can  come  near 

Nor  evil  beast  to  harm  thee  : 


SEASONS 

Sleep,  Sweet,  devoid  of  fear 

Where  nothing  need  alarm  thee. 

The  Love  which  doth  not  sleep, 

The  eternal  Arms  surround  thee  : 
The  Shepherd  of  the  sheep 

In  perfect  love  hath  found  thee. 
Sleep  through  the  holy  night, 

Christ-kept  from  snare  and  sorrow, 
Until  thou  wake  to  light 

And  love  and  warmth  to-morrow. 
I  July  1853. 


SEASONS 

IN  Springtime  when  the  leaves  are  young, 
Clear  dewdrops  gleam  like  jewels,  hung 
On  boughs  the  fair  birds  roost  among. 

When  Summer  comes  with  sw^eet  unrest. 
Birds  weary  of  their  mother's  breast. 
And  look  abroad  and  leave  the  nest. 

In  Autumn  ere  the  waters  freeze, 
The  swallows  fly  across  the  seas  :  — 
If  we  could  fly  away  with  these  ! 

In  Winter  when  the  birds  are  gone. 
The  sun  himself  looks  starved  and  w^an, 
And  starved  the  snow  he  shines  upon. 
September  1853. 


72 


A    WISH 


BURIED 

THOU  sleepest  where  the  liHes  fade, 
Thou  dwellest  where  the  HHes  fade  not : 
Sweet,  when  thine  earthly  part  decayed 
Thy  heavenly  part  decayed  not. 

Thou  dwellest  where  the  roses  blow. 

The  crimson  roses  bud  and  blossom  : 
While  on  thine  eyes  is  heaped  the  snow  — 
The  snow  upon  thy  bosom. 

1853. 


A  WISH 


I  WISH  I  were  a  little  bird 
That  out  of  sight  doth  soar ; 
I  wish  I  were  a  song  once  heard 

But  often  pondered  o'er, 
Or  shadow  of  a  lily  stirred 

By  wind  upon  the  floor, 
Or  echo  of  a  loving  word 

Worth  all  that  went  before, 
Or  memory  of  a  hope  deferred 

That  springs  again  no  more. 


1853. 


TJVO  PARTED  73 


TWO   PARTED 

"  OING  of  a  love  lost  and  forgotten, 

Vs3     Sing  of  a  joy  finished  and  o'er, 
Sing  of  a  heart  core-cold  and  rotten, 

Sing  of  a  hope  springing  no  more." 

"  Sigh  for  a  heart  aching  and  sore." 

^^  I  was  most  true  and  my  own  love  betrayed  me, 
I  was  most  true  and  she  would  none  of  me. 

Was  it  the  cry  of  the  world  that  dismayed  thee  ? 
Love,  I  had  bearded  the  wide  world  for  thee." 
"  Hark  to  the  sorrowful  sound  of  the  sea." 

'^  Still  in  my  dreams  she  comes  tender  and  gracious, 
Still  in  my  dreams  love  looks  out  of  her  eyes  : 

Oh  that  the  love  of  a  dream  were  veracious, 
Or  that  thus  dreaming  I  might  not  arise  !  " 
"  Oh  for  the  silence  that  stilleth  all  sighs  1  '* 

1853- 


74 


AUTUMN 


FOR   ROSALINE'S   ALBUM 

DO  you  hear  the  low  winds  singing, 
And  streams  singing  on  their  bed?- 
Very  distant  bells  are  ringing 
In  a  chapel  for  the  dead  :  — 
Death-pale  better  than  life-red. 

Mother,  come  to  me  in  rest, 

And  bring  Httle  ]\Iay  to  see. 
Shall  I  bid  no  other  guest? 
Seven  slow  nights  have  passed  away 
Over  my  forgotten  clay  : 

None  must  come  save  you  and  she. 
1853. 


18 


AUTUMN 

CARE  flieth, 
Hope  and  Fear  together : 
Love  dieth 
In  the  Autumn  weather. 

For  a  friend 
Even  Care  is  pleasant : 
When  Fear  doth  end 
Hope  is  no  more  present : 
Autumn  silences  the  turtle-dove  :  — 
In  blank  Autumn  who  could  speak  of  love? 
53- 


BALLAD  75 


SEASONS 


CROCUSES  and  snowdrops  wither, 
Violets,  primroses  together, 
Fading  with  the  fading  Spring 
Before  a  fuller  blossoming. 

O  sweet  Summer,  pass  not  soon, 
Stay  awhile  the  harvest-moon  : 
O  sweetest  Summer,  do  not  go, 
For  Autumn's  next  and  next  the  snow. 

When  Autumn  comes  the  days  are  drear, 
It  is  the  downfall  of  the  year  : 
We  heed  the  wind  and  falling  leaf 
More  than  the  golden  harvest-sheaf. 

Dreary  Winter  come  at  last : 
Come  quickly,  so  be  quickly  past : 
Dusk  and  sluggish  Winter  wane 
Till  Spring  and  sunlight  dawn  again. 
7  December  1853. 


BALLAD 

"  O  OFT  white  lamb  in  the  daisy  meadow, 
Vs3     Come  hither  and  play  with  me. 

For  I  am  lonesome  and  I  am  tired 
Underneath  the  apple  tree." 


76  BALLAD 

'^  There's  your  husband  if  you  are  lonesome,  lady, 
And  your  bed  if  you  want  for  rest : 

And  your  baby  for  a  playfellow 
With  a  soft  hand  for  your  breast." 

''  Fair  white  dove  in  the  sunshine, 

Perched  on  the  ashen  bough, 
Come  and  perch  by  me  and  coo  to  me 

While  the  buds  are  blowing  now." 

"  I  must  keep  my  nestlings  warm,  lady. 

Underneath  my  downy  breast : 
There's  your  baby  to  coo  and  crow  to  you 

While  I  brood  upon  my  nest." 

"  Faint  white  rose,  come  He  on  my  heart, 

Come  lie  there  with  your  thorn : 
For  I'll  be  dead  at  the  vesper-bell 

And  buried  the  morrow  morn." 

"There's  blood  on  your  lily  breast,  lady, 

Like  roses  when  they  blow, 
And  there's  blood  upon  your  little  hand 

That  should  be  white  as  snow  : 
I  will  stay  amid  my  fellows 

Where  the  liUes  grow." 

"  But  it's  oh  my  own  own  Uttle  babe 

That  I  had  you  here  to  kiss, 
And  to  comfort  me  in  the  strange  next  world 

Though  I  slighted  you  so  in  this." 


A   SOUL  77 

"  You  shall  kiss  both  cheek  and  chin,  mother, 

And  kiss  me  between  the  eyes, 
Or  ever  the  moon  is  on  her  way 

And  the  pleasant  stars  arise  : 
You  shall  kiss  and  kiss  your  fill,  mother. 

In  the  nest  of  Paradise." 
7  January  1854. 


A   SOUL 

SHE  stands  as  pale  as  Parian  statues  stand ; 
Like  Cleopatra  when  she  turned  at  bay, 

And  felt  her  strength  above  the  Roman  sway. 
And  felt  the  aspic  writhing  in  her  hand. 
Her  face  is  steadfast  toward  the  shadowy  land. 

For  dim  beyond  it  looms  the  land  of  day  : 

Her  feet  are  steadfast,  all  the  arduous  way 
That  foot-track  doth  not  waver  on  the  sand. 
She  stands  there  like  a  beacon  through  the  night, 

A  pale  clear  beacon  where  the  storm-drift  is  — 
She  stands  alone,  a  wonder  deathly-white  : 
She  stands  there  patient  nerved  with  inner  might. 

Indomitable  in  her  feebleness, 
Her  face  and  will  athirst  against  the  light. 

7  February  1854. 


78  FROM  THE  ANTIQUE 


FROM   THE   ANTIQUE 

IT'S  a  weary  life,  it  is,  she  said  :  — 
Doubly  blank  in  a  woman's  lot : 
I  wish  and  I  wish  I  were  a  man  : 
Or,  better  than  any  being,  were  not : 

Were  nothing  at  all  in  all  the  world, 
Not  a  body  and  not  a  soul : 

Not  so  much  as  a  grain  of  dust 
Or  drop  of  water  from  pole  to  pole. 

Still  the  world  would  wag  on  the  same. 
Still  the  seasons  go  and  come  : 

Blossoms  bloom  as  in  days  of  old, 
Cherries  ripen  and  wild  bees  hum. 

None  would  miss  me  in  all  the  world, 
How  much  less  would  care  or  weep  : 

I  should  be  nothing,  while  all  the  rest 
Would  wake  and  weary  and  fall  asleep. 

2%  J 2171  e  1854 


RESTIVE  79 


RESTIVE 

I  THOUGHT  to  deal  the  death-stroke  at  a  blow : 
To  give  all,  once  for  all,  but  never  more  :  — 
Then  sit  to  hear  the  low  waves  fret  the  shore, 
Or  watch  the  silent  snow. 

"  Oh  rest,"  I  thought,  *^  in  silence  and  the  dark : 
Oh  rest,  if  nothing  else,  from  head  to  feet : 
Though  I  may  see  no  more  the  poppied  wheat, 
Or  sunny  soaring  lark. 

"  These  chimes  are  slow,  but  surely  strike  at  last : 
This  sand  is  slow,  but  surely  droppeth  through : 
And  much  there  is  to  suffer,  much  to  do. 
Before  the  time  be  past. 

"  So  will  I  labour,  but  will  not  rejoice  : 
Will  do  and  bear,  but  will  not  hope  again. 
Gone  dead  alike  to  pulses  of  quick  pain 
And  pleasure's  counterpoise.'* 

I  said  so  in  my  heart :  and  so  I  thought 
My  life  would  lapse,  a  tedious  monotone  : 
I  thought  to  shut  myself  and  dwell  alone 
Unseeking  and  unsought : 


8o  RESTIVE 

But  first  I  tired,  and  then  my  care  grew  slack, 
Till  my  heart  dreamed,  and  maybe  wandered  too  ; 
I  felt  the  sunshine  glow  again,  and  knew 
The  swallow  on  its  track : 


All  birds  awoke  to  building  in  the  leaves, 
All  buds  awoke  to  fulness  and  sweet  scent : 
Ah  too  my  heart  woke  unawares,  intent 
On  fruitful  harvest-sheaves. 

Full  pulse  of  Hfe,  that  I  had  deemed  was  dead ; 
Full  throb  of  youth,  that  I  had  deemed  at  rest. 
Alas  I  cannot  build  myself  a  nest, 
I  cannot  crown  my  head 

With  royal  purple  blossoms  for  the  feast, 
Nor  flush  with  laughter,  nor  exult  in  song :  — 
These  joys  may  drift*,  as  time  now  drifts  along ; 
And  cease,  as  once  they  ceased. 

I  may  pursue,  and  yet  may  not  attain, 
Athirst  and  panting  all  the  days  I  live : 
Or  seem  to  hold,  yet  nerve  myself  to  give 
What  once  I  gave,  again. 
2^  July  1854. 


LONG  LOOKED  FOR  8i 


LONG  LOOKED  FOR 

WHEN  the  eye  hardly  sees, 
And  the  pulse  hardly  stirs, 
And  the  heart  would  scarcely  quicken 

Though  the  voice  were  hers  : 
Then  the  longing  wasting  fever 

Will  be  almost  past : 
Sleep  indeed  come  back  again, 
And  peace  at  last. 

Not  till  then,  dear  friends. 
Not  till  then,  most  like,  most  dear, 

The  dove  will  fold  its  wings 
To  settle  here. 

Then  to  all  her  coldness 

I  also  shall  be  cold ; 
Then  I  also  have  forgotten 

Our  happy  love  of  old. 

Close  mine  eyes  with  care, 
Cross  my  hands  upon  my  breast. 

Let  shadows  and  full  silence 
Tell  of  rest : 
For  she  yet  may  look  upon  me 

Too  proud  to  speak,  but  know 
One  heart  less  loves  her  in  the  world 

Than  loved  her  long  ago. 


82  LISTEIVING 

Strew  flowers  upon  the  bed 
And  flowers  upon  the  floor, 
Let  all  be  sweet  and  comely 
When  she  stands  at  the  door : 
Fair  as  a  bridal  chamber 
For  her  to  come  into, 
When  the  sunny  day  is  over 
At  falling  of  the  dew. 

If  she  comes,  watch  her  not, 
But  careless  turn  aside  : 
She  may  weep  if  left  alone 
With  her  beauty  and  her  pride  : 
She  may  pluck  a  leaf  perhaps 
Or  a  languid  violet 
.When  Hfe  and  love  are  finished 
And  even  I  forget. 
12  August  1854. 


LISTENING 

SHE  listened  like  a  cushat  dove 
That  Hstens  to  its  mate  alone  : 
She  Hstened  like  a  cushat  dove 
That  loves  but  only  one. 

Not  fair  as  men  would  reckon  fair, 
Nor  noble  as  they  count  the  line  : 
Only  as  graceful  as  a  bough, 
And  tendrils  of  the  vine  : 


k 


THE  LAST  LOOK  Zt, 

Only  as  noble  as  sweet  Eve 
Your  ancestress  and  mine. 

And  downcast  were  her  dovelike  eyes 
And  downcast  was  her  tender  cheek ; 
Her  pulses  fluttered  like  a  dove 
To  hear  him  speak. 
October  1854. 


THE   LAST   LOOK 

HER  face  was  like  an  opening  rose, 
So  bright  to  look  upon  : 
But  now  it  is  like  fallen  snows, 
As  cold,  as  dead,  as  wan. 

Heaven  lit  with  stars  is  more  like  her 
Than  is  this  empty  crust : 

Deaf,  dumb,  and  blind,  it  cannot  stir, 
But  crumbles  back  to  dust. 

No  flower  be  taken  from  her  bed 
For  me,  no  lock  be  shorn  : 

I  give  her  up,  the  early  dead, 
The  dead,  the  newly  born. 

If  I  remember  her,  no  need 

Of  formal  tokens  set ; 
Of  hollow  token-hes  indeed 

No  need,  if  I  forget. 

23  March  1855. 


84        I  HAVE  A   MESSAGE   UXTO    THEE 


I   HAVE   A   jMESSAGE   UNTO   THEE 

(Written  in  Sickness) 

GREEN  sprout  the  grasses, 
Red  blooms  the  mossy  rose, 
Blue  nods  the  harebell 
Where  purple  heather  blows  ; 
The  water-Hly,  silver  white. 
Is  living  fair  as  light : 

Sweet  jasmine -branches  trail 
A  dusky  starry  veil : 
Each  goodly  is  to  see, 
Comely  in  its  degree  : 
I  only  I,  alas  that  this  should  be, 
Am  ruinously  pale. 

New  year  renews  the  grasses. 
The  crimson  rose  renews, 
Brings  up  the  breezy  bluebell. 
Refreshes  heath  with  dews  : 
Then  water-lihes  ever 
Bud  fresh  upon  the  river  : 
Then  jasmine  lights  its  star 
And  spreads  its  arms  afar : 


/  HAFE  A   MESSAGE   UXTO    THEE       85 

I  only  in  my  spring 
Can  neither  bud  nor  sing : 
I  find  not  honey  but  a  sting 
Though  fair  the  blossoms  are. 

For  me  no  downy  grasses, 
For  me  no  blossoms  pluck : 
But  leave  them  for  the  breezes, 
For  honey-bees  to  suck, 
For  childish  hands  to  pull 
And  pile  their  baskets  full : 
I  will  not  have  a  crown 
That  soon  must  be  laid  down  : 
Trust  me  :   I  cannot  care 
A  withering  crown  to  \vear, 
I  who  may  be  immortally  made  fair 
Where  autumn  turns  not  brown. 

Spring,  summer,  autumn. 
Winter,  all  will  pass. 

With  tender  blossoms 
And  with  fruitful  grass. 

Sweet  days  of  yore 
Will  pass  to  come  no  more, 

Sweet  perfumes  fly, 
Buds  languish  and  go  by : 
Oh  bloom  that  cannot  last, 
Oh  blossoms  quite  gone  past, 
I  yet  shall  feast  when  you  shall  fast, 
And  Hve  when  you  shall  die. 


1   HAVE  A   MESSAGE   UNTO    THEE 

Your  work-day  fully  ended, 

Your  pleasant  task  being  done, 
You  shall  finish  with  the  stars^ 

The  moon  and  setting  sun. 

You  and  these  and  time 

Shall  end  with  the  last  chime,  — 

For  earthly  solace  given. 

But  needed  not  in  heaven ; 

Needed  not  perhaps 

Through  the  eternal  lapse. 

Or  else,  all  signs  fulfilled, 

What  you  foreshow  may  yield 
Delights  through  heaven's  own  harvest  field 

With  undecaying  saps. 

Young  girls  wear  flowers. 
Young  brides  a  flowery  wreath : 

But  next  we  plant  them 
In  garden-plots  of  death. 
Whose  sleep  is  best?  — 
The  maiden's  curtained  rest. 
Or  bride's  whose  hoped-for  sweet 
May  yet  outstrip  her  feet  ?  — 
Ah  what  are  such  as  these 
To  death's  sufficing  ease? 
How  long  and  deep  that  slumber  is 
Where  night  and  morning  meet ! 

Dear  are  the  blossoms 

For  bride's  or  maiden's  head, 


I  HAVE  A   MESSAGE   UNTO    THEE        Z-j 

But  dearer  planted 
Around  our  happy  dead. 
Those  mind  us  of  decay 
And  joys  that  slip  away  : 
These  preach  to  us  perfection 
And  endless  resurrection. 
We  make  our  graveyards  fair 
For  spirit-like  birds  of  air  : 
For  Angels,  may  be,  finding  there 
Lost  Eden's  own  delection. 

A  blessing  on  the  flowers 
That  God  has  made  so  good, 
From  crops  of  jealous  gardens 
To  wildlings  of  a  wood. 
They  show  us  symbols  deep 
Of  how  to  sow  and  reap  : 
They  teach  us  lessons  plain 
Of  patient  harvest-gain. 
They  still  are  telling  of 
God's  unimagined  love  :  — 
'^Oh  gift,"  they  say,  "all  gifts  above, 
Shall  it  be  given  in  vain  ?  — 

"  Better  you  had  not  seen  us 
But  shared  the  bhnd  man's  night, 
Better  you  had  not  scented 
Our  incense  of  delight. 
Than  only  plucked  to  scorn 
The  rosebud  for  its  thorn  : 


88  COBWEBS 

Not  so  the  instinctive  thrush 
Hymns  in  a  holly-bush. 
Be  wise  betimes,  and  with  the  bee 
Suck  sweets  from  prickly  tree, 
To  last  when  earth's  are  flown  : 
So  God  well  pleased  will  own 
Your  work,  and  bless  not  time  alone 
But  ripe  eternity." 
26  March  1855. 


COBWEBS 


IT  is  a  land  with  neither  night  nor  day, 
Nor  heat  nor  cold,  nor  any  wind  nor  rain. 

Nor  hills  nor  valleys  :  but  one  even  plain 
Stretches  through  long  unbroken  miles  away. 
While  through  the  sluggish  air  a  twilight  grey 

Broodeth  :  no  moons  or  seasons  wax  and  wane, 

No  ebb  and  flow  are  there  along  the  main, 
No  bud-time,  no  leaf-falling,  there  for  aye  :  — 
No  ripple  on  the  sea,  no  shifting  sand. 

No  beat  of  wings  to  stir  the  stagnant  space  : 
No  pulse  of  life  through  all  the  loveless  land 
And  loveless  sea ;  no  trace  of  days  before, 

No  guarded  home,  no  toil-won  resting-place, 
No  future  hope,  no  fear  for  evermore. 

October  1855. 


AN  AFTER-THOUGHT  89 


AN   AFTER-THOUGHT 

OH  lost  garden  Paradise  !  — 
Were  the  roses  redder  there 
Than  they  blossom  otherwhere  ? 
Was  the  night's  delicious  shade 
More  intensely  star-inlaid  ? 
Who  can  tell  what  memories 
Of  lost  beloved  Paradise 
Saddened  Eve  with  sleepless  eyes  ? 

Fair  first  mother  lulled  to  rest 

In  a  choicer  garden-nest, 

Curtained  with  a  softer  shading 

Than  thy  tenderest  child  is  laid  in,  — 

Was  the  sundawn  brighter  far 

Than  our  daily  sundawns  are  ? 

Was  that  love,  first  love  of  all, 
Warmer,  deeper,  better  worth 
Than  has  warmed  poor  hearts  of  earth 

Since  the  utter  ruinous  fall  ? 

Ah  supremely  happy  once. 
Ah  supremely  broken-hearted 
When  her  tender  feet  departed 
From  the  accustomed  paths  of  peace  : 

Catching  Angel  orisons 

For  the  last  last  time  of  all. 


90  AN  AFTER-THOUGHT 

Shedding  tears  that  would  not  cease 
For  the  bitter  fall. 

Yet  the  accustomed  hand  for  leading, 

Yet  the  accustomed  heart  for  love  : 
Sure  she  kept  one  part  of  Eden 

Angels  could  not  strip  her  of. 
Sure  the  fiery  messenger 

Kindling  for  his  outraged  Lord, 
Willing  with  the  perfect  Will, 

Yet  rejoiced  the  flaming  sword, 
Chastening  sore  but  sparing  still. 
Shut  her  treasure  out  with  her. 

What  became  of  Paradise  ? 
Did  the  cedars  droop  at  all 
(Springtide  hastening  to  the  fall) 
Missing  the  beloved  hand  — 
Or  did  their  green  perfection  stand 

Unmoved  beneath  the  perfect  skies?  — 

Paradise  was  rapt  on  high. 

It  lies  before  the  gate  of  Heaven  :  — 
Eve  now  slumbers  there  forgiven. 
Slumbers  Rachel  comforted, 
Slumber  all  the  blessed  dead 

Of  days  and  months  and  years  gone  by, 

A  solemn  swelling  company. 

They  wait  for  us  beneath  the  trees 
Of  Paradise,  that  lap  of  ease  : 


TO    THE  END  91 

They  wait  for  us,  till  God  shall  please. 
Oh  come  the  day  of  death,  that  day 
Of  rest  which  cannot  pass  away  ! 
When  the  last  work  is  wrought,  the  last 
Pang  of  pain  is  felt  and  past. 
And  the  blessed  door  made  fast. 

18  December  1855. 


TO   THE    END 

THERE  are  hlies  for  her  sisters  — 
(Who  so  cold  as  they  ?)  — 
And  heartsease  for  one  I  must  not  name 

When  I  am  far  away. 
I  shall  pluck  the  lady  hhes 

And  fancy  all  the  rest : 
I  shall  pluck  the  bright-eyed  heartsease 

For  her  sake  I  love  the  best : 
As  I  wander  on  with  weary  feet 

Toward  the  twilight  shadowy  west. 

O  bird  that  flyest  eastward 
Unto  that  sunny  land. 
Oh  wilt  thou  light  on  lilies  white 
Beside  her  whiter  hand  ? 
Soft  summer  wind  that  breathest 
Of  perfumes  and  sweet  spice. 


92  TO   THE  END 

Ah  tell  her  what  I  dare  not  tell 
Of  watchful  waiting  eyes, 

Of  love  that  yet  may  meet  again 
In  distant  Paradise. 

I  go  from  earth  to  heaven 

A  dim  uncertain  road, 
A  houseless  pilgrim  through  the  world 

Unto  a  sure  abode  : 

While  evermore  an  Angel 

Goes  with  me  day  and  night, 

A  ministering  spirit 

From  the  land  of  light, 
My  holy  fellow-servant  sent 

To  guide  my  steps  aright. 

I  wonder  if  the  Angels 

Love  with  such  love  as  ours, 
If  for  each  other's  sake  they  pluck 

And  keep  eternal  flowers. 

Alone  I  am  and  weary. 

Alone  yet  not  alone  : 
Her  soul  talks  with  me  by  the  way 

From  tedious  stone  to  stone, 
A  blessed  Angel  treads  with  me 

The  awful  paths  unknown. 

When  will  the  long  road  end  in  rest. 
The  sick  bird  perch  and  brood  ? 

When  will  my  Guardian  fold  his  wings 
At  rest  in  the  finished  good?  — 


TO    THE  END  93 

Lulling,  lulling  me  off  to  sleep  : 

While  Death's  strong  hand  doth  roll 

My  sins  behind  his  back, 

And  my  life  up  like  a  scroll, 
Till  through  sleep  I  hear  kind  Angels 

Rejoicing  at  the  goal. 

If  her  spirit  went  before  me 

Up  from  night  to  day, 
It  would  pass  me  like  the  lightning 

That  kindles  on  its  way. 
I  should  feel  it  like  the  lightning 

Flashing  fresh  from  Heaven  : 
I  should  long  for  Heaven  sevenfold  more, 

Yea  and  sevenfold  seven  : 
Should  pray  as  I  have  not  prayed  before, 

And  strive  as  I  have  not  striven. 

She  will  learn  new  love  in  Heaven, 

Who  is  so  full  of  love  ; 
She  will  learn  new  depths  of  tenderness 

Who  is  tender  like  a  dove. 

Her  heart  will  no  more  sorrow, 

Her  eyes  will  weep  no  more  : 
Yet  it  may  be  she  will  yearn 

And  look  back  from  far  before  : 
Lingering  on  the  golden  threshold 

And  leaning  from  the  door. 

18  Decet7iber  1855. 


94 


MAY 


MAY 

"  QVVEET  Life  is  dead."  —  "  Not  so  : 
Vs3     I  meet  him  day  by  day, 

Where  bluest  fountains  flow 

And  trees  are  white  as  snow, 
For  it  is  time  of  May. 

Even  now  from  long  ago 
He  will  not  say  me  nay, 

He  is  most  fair  to  see  : 
And  if  I  wander  forth,  I  know 

He  wanders  forth  with  me." 

"  But  Life  is  dead  to  me  : 

The  worn-out  year  was  failing, 
West  winds  took  up  a  wailing 
To  watch  his  funeral : 
Bare  poplars  shivered  tall 

And  lank  vines  stretched  to  see. 
'Twixt  him  and  me  a  wall 

Was  frozen  of  earth-like  stone 

With  brambles  overgrown  : 
Chill  darkness  wrapped  him  like  a  pall 

And  I  am  left  alone." 


'  How  can  you  call  him  dead  ? 
He  buds  out  everywhere  : 


BY  THE   WATER  95 

In  every  hedgerow  rank, 
On  every  mossgrown  bank, 
I  find  him  here  and  there. 
He  crowns  my  wilHng  head 
With  May-flowers  white  and  red, 
He  rears  my  tender  heartsease-bed  : 
He  makes  my  branch  to  bud  and  bear. 
And  blossoms  where  I  tread." 
31  December  1855. 


BY  THE  WATER 

THERE  are  rivers  lapsing  down 
Lily-laden  to  the  sea  : 
Every  Hly  is  a  boat 

For  bees,  one,  two,  or  three  : 
I  wish  there  were  a  fairy  boat 
For  you,  my  friend,  and  me. 

And  if  there  were  a  fairy  boat 

And  if  the  river  bore  us, 
We  should  not  care  for  all  the  past 

Nor  all  that  lies  before  us. 
Not  for  the  hopes  that  buoyed  us  once 

Not  for  the  fears  that  tore  us. 

We  would  rock  upon  the  river 
Scarcely  floating  by, 


96  A    CHILLY  NIGHT 

Rocking,  rocking  like  the  lilies, 
You,  my  friend,  and  I  : 

Rocking  like  the  stately  lilies 
Beneath  the  statelier  sky. 

But  ah  where  is  that  river 

Whose  hyacinth  banks  descend 

Down  to  the  sweeter  liHes 
Till  soft  their  shadows  blend 

Into  a  watery  twilight  ?  — 
And  ah  where  is  my  friend? 

7  February  1856. 


A  CHILLY  NIGHT 

I  ROSE  at  the  dead  of  night, 
And  went  to  the  lattice  alone 
To  look  for  my  Mother's  ghost 

Where  the  ghostly  moonlight  shone. 

My  friends  had  failed  one  by  one, 
Middle-aged,  young,  and  old, 

Till  the  ghosts  were  warmer  to  me 
Than  my  friends  that  had  grown  cold. 

I  looked  and  I  saw  the  ghosts 

Dotting  plain  and  mound  : 
They  stood  in  the  blank  moonlight, 

But  no  shadow  lay  on  the  ground  : 


A    CHILLY  NIGHT  97 

They  spoke  without  a  voice 

And  they  leaped  without  a  sound. 


I  called  :  *^  O  my  Mother  dear,"  — 
I  sobbed  :  "  O  my  Mother  kind, 

Make  a  lonely  bed  for  me 
And  shelter  it  from  the  wind : 

"  Tell  the  others  not  to  come 

To  see  me  night  or  day  : 
But  I  need  not  tell  my  friends 

To  be  sure  to  keep  away." 

My  Mother  raised  her  eyes, 

They  were  blank  and  could  not  see  ; 
Yet  they  held  me  with  their  stare 

While  they  seemed  to  look  at  me. 

She  opened  her  mouth  and  spoke, 

I  could  not  hear  a  word. 
While  my  flesh  crept  on  my  bones 

And  every  hair  was  stirred. 

She  knew  that  I  could  not  hear 
The  message  that  she  told 

Whether  I  had  long  to  wait 

Or  soon  should  sleep  in  the  mould : 
I  saw  her  toss  her  shadowless  hair 

And  wring  her  hands  in  the  cold. 

H 


8  LET  PATIENCE 

I  strained  to  catch  her  words, 

And  she  strained  to  make  me  hear  ; 

But  never  a  sound  of  words 
Fell  on  my  straining  ear. 

From  midnight  to  the  cockcrow 
I  kept  my  watch  in  pain 

While  the  subtle  ghosts  grew  subtler 
In  the  sad  night  on  the  wane. 

From  midnight  to  the  cockcrow 
I  watched  till  all  were  gone, 
Some  to  sleep  in  the  shifting  sea 

And  some  under  turf  and  stone  : 
Living  had  failed  and  dead  had  failed, 
And  I  was  indeed  alone. 
II  February  1856. 


LET   PATIENCE   HAVE  HER   PERFECT 
WORK 

I  SAW  a  bird  alone. 
In  its  nest  it  sat  alone. 
For  its  mate  was  dead  or  flown 
Though  it  was  early  Spring. 
Hard  by  were  buds  half-blown, 
With  cornfields  freshly  sown  : 


HAVE  HER  PERFECT   WORK  99 

It  could  only  perch  and  moan 
That  used  to  sing  : 
Droop  in  sorrow  left  alone  : 
A  sad  sad  thing. 


I  saw  a  star  alone, 

In  blue  heaven  it  hung  alone, 

A  solitary  throne 

In  the  waste  of  space  : 
Where  no  moon-glories  are, 
Where  not  a  second  star 
Beams  through  night  from  near  or  far 
To  that  lone  place. 
Its  beauties  all  unknown, 
Its  glories  all  alone. 
Sad  in  heaven's  face. 

Doth  the  bird  desire  a  mate, 
Pine  for  a  second  mate. 
Whose  first  joy  was  so  great 

With  its  own  dove  ? 
Doth  the  star  supreme  in  night 
Desire  a  second  light 
To  make  it  seem  less  bright, 
In  the  shrine  of  heavenly  height 

That  is  above?  — 

Ah  better  wait  alone. 
In  nest  or  heaven  alone, 


100  IN  THE  LANE 

Forsaken  or  unknown  : 

Till,  time  being  past  and  gone, 

Full  eternity  rolls  on, 

While  patience  reaps  what  it  has  sown 
In  the  harvest-land  of  love. 
12  March  1856. 


IN   THE   LANE 

WHEN  my  love  came  home  to  me, 
Pleasant  summer  bringing, 
Every  tree  was  out  in  leaf, 
Every  bird  was  singing. 

There  I  met  her  in  the  lane 

By  those  waters  gleamy, 
Met  her  toward  the  fall  of  day, 

Warm  and  dear  and  dreamy. 
Did  I  loiter  in  the  lane  ? 

None  was  there  to  see  me. 

Only  roses  in  the  hedge, 

Lilies  on  the  river, 
Saw  our  greeting  fast  and  fond. 

Counted  gift  and  giver. 
Saw  me  take  her  to  my  home, 

Take  her  home  for  ever. 
3  May  1856. 


ACME  loi 


ACME 

SLEEP,  unforgotten  sorrow,  sleep  awhile  : 
Make  even  awhile  as  though  I  might  forget ; 
Let  the  wound  staunch  thy  tedious  fingers 

Till  once  again  I  look  abroad  and  smile, 

Warmed  in  the  sunlight :  let  no  tears  defile 
This  hour's  content,  no  conscious  thorns  beset 
My  path  :  O  sorrow,  slumber,  slumber  yet 

A  moment,  rouse  not  yet  the  smouldering  pile. 

So  shalt  thou  wake  again  with  added  strength, 
O  unforgotten  sorrow,  stir  again 
The  slackening  fire,  refine  the  lulling  pain 
To  quickened  torture  and  a  subtler  edge. 
The  wrung  cord  snaps  at  last :  beneath  the  wedge 

The  toughest  oak  groans  long  but  rends  at  length. 
9  May  1856. 


102  A   BED   OF  FORGET-ME-NOTS 


A  BED  OF  FORGET-ME-NOTS 

IS  Love  so  prone  to  change  and  rot  . 

We  are  fain  to  rear  Forget-me-not 
By  measure  in  a  garden-plot?  — 

I  love  its  growth  at  large  and  free 
By  untrod  path  and  unlopped  tree, 
Or  nodding  by  the  unpruned  hedge, 
Or  on  the  water's  dangerous  edge 
Where  flags  and  meadowsweet  blow  rank 
With  rushes  on  the  quaking  bank. 

Love  is  not  taught  in  learning's  school, 

Love  is  not  parcelled  out  by  rule  : 

Hath  curb  or  call  an  answer  got? — 

So  free  must  be  Forget-me-not. 

Give  me  the  flame  no  dampness  dulls. 

The  passion  of  the  instinctive  pulse, 

Love  steadfast  as  a  fixed  star. 

Tender  as  doves  with  nestlings  are. 

More  .large  than  time,  more  strong  than  death  \ 

This  all  creation  travails  of  — 
She  groans  not  for  a  passing  breath  — 

This  is  Forget-me-not  and  Love. 
Y*]  June  1856. 


LOOK  ON  THIS  PICTURE  103 


LOOK  ON   THIS   PICTURE   AND   ON   THIS 

I  WISH  we  once  were  wedded,  —  then  I  must  be 
true  : 
You  should  hold  my  will  in  yours  to  do  or  to  undo  : 
But  I  hate  myself  now,  Eva,  when  I  look  at  you. 

You  have  seen  her  hazel  eyes,  her  warm  dark  skin, 
Dark  hair  —  but  oh  those  hazel  eyes  a  devil  is  dancing 

in  :  — 
You,  my  saint,  lead  up  to  heaven,  she  lures  down  to 

sin. 

She's   so   redundant,  stately  :  —  in  truth   now  have 

you  seen 
Ever   anywhere   such   beauty,  such  a  stature,  such  a 

mien? 
She  may  be  queen  of  devils,  but  she's  every  inch  a 

queen. 

If  you  sing  to  me,  I  hear  her  subtler  sweeter  still 
Whispering  in  each  tender  cadence  strangely  sweet  to 

fill 
All  that  lacks  in  music,  all  my  soul  and  sense   and 

will. 


104  LOOK  OX  THIS  PICTURE 

But  you  ask,  ^' Why  struggle  ?    I  have  given  you  up  : 
Take  again  your  pledges,  snap  the   cord   and   break 
the  cup  : 
Feast  you  with  your  temptation,   for  I  in  heaven 
will  sup." 

Can  I  bear  to  think  upon  you  strong  to  break  not 

bend. 
Pale  with  inner  intense  passion,  silent  to  the  end, 
Bear  to  leave  you,  bear  to  grieve  you,  O  my  dove,  my 

friend  ? 

Listening  so,   I  hide  mine  eyes  and  fancy  years  to 

come  : 
You    cherished    in    another    home    with    no    cares 

burdensome  : 
You  straitened  in  a  winding-sheet,  pulseless,  at  peace, 

and  dumb. 

Open  house  and  heart,  barred  to  me  alone  the  door  : 
Children  bound  to  meet  her,  babies  crow  before  : 
Blessed  wife  and  blessed  mother  whom  I  may  see  no 
more. 

Or  I  fancy  —  In  the  grave  her  comely  body  lies  : 
She  is  'tiring  for  the  Bridegroom  till  the  morning  star 

shall  rise, 
Then  to  shine  a  glory  in  the  nuptials  of  the  skies. 


AND    ON  THIS  105 

No  more  yearning  tenderness,  no  more  pale  regret : 
She  will  not  look  for  me  when  the  marriage-guests 

are  set, 
She  joys  with  joy  eternal  as  we  had  never  met. 

I  would  that  one  of  us  were  dead,  were  gone  no  more 
to  meet, 

Or  she  and  I  were  dead  together  stretched  here  at 
your  feet : 

That  she  and  I  were  strained  together  in  one  winding- 
sheet. 

How  have  you  the  heart  to  face  me  with  that  passion 

in  your  stare 
Deathly  silent?     Weep  before  me,  rave  at  me  in  your 

despair :  — 
If  you  keep  patience,  wings  will  spring  and  a  halo  from 

your  hair. 

See  now  how  proud  you  are,  like  us  after  all,  no 

saint : 
Not  so  upright  but  that  you  are  bowed  with  the  old 

bent : 
White  at  white-heat,  tainted  with  the  devil's  special 

taint. 

Did  I  love  you  ?    Never  from  the  first  cold  day  to  this  : 
You  are  not  sufficient  for  my  aim  of  Hfe,  my  bliss  : 
You  are  not  sufficient,  but  I  found  the  one  that  is. 


io6  LOOK  OiV  THIS  PICTURE 

Then  did  I  never  love  you  ?  —  ah  the  sting  struck 

home  at  last ! 
You  are  drooping,   fainting,   dying  —  the  worst   of 

death  is  past  — 
A  light  is  on  your  face   from  the  nearing  heaven 

forecast. 

Never  ?  —  yes  I  loved  you  then :  I  loved,  the  word 

still  charms  : 
For  the  first  time,  last  time.  He  here  in  my  heart, 

my  arms, 
For  the  first  last  time,  as  if  I  shielded  you  from 

harms. 

For  after  all  I  loved  you,  loved  you  then,  I  love  you 

yet : 
Listen,  love,  I  love  you  :  see,  the  seal  of  truth  is  set 
On  my  face,  in  tears  —  you  cannot  see  ?  then  feel 

them  wet. 

Pause  at  heaven's  dear  gate,  look  back,  one  moment 

back  to  grieve  : 
You  go  home  through  death  to  life  :   but   I,  I    still 

must  live  : 
On  the  threshold  of  heaven's  love,  O  love,  can  you 

forgive  ?  — 

Fully,  freely,  fondly,  with  heart-truth  above  an  oath, 
With  eager  utter  pardon  given  unasked  and  nothing 

loth. 
Heaping  coals  of  fire  upon  our  heads,  forgiving  both. 


AND    ON  THIS  107 

One  word  more  —  not  one  !     One  look  more  —  too 

late,  too  late  ! 
Lapped  in  love  she  sleeps  who  was  lashed  with  scorn 

and  hate  : 
Nestling  in  the  lap  of  Love  the  dove  has  found  a  mate. 

Night  has  come,  the  night  of  rest :   day   will  come, 

that  day  : 
To  her  glad  dawn  of  glory  kindled  from  the  deathless 

ray  : 
To  us  a  searching  fire  and  strict  balances  to  weigh. 

« 
The  tearless  tender  eyes  are  closed,  the  tender  hps 

are  dumb  — 
I  shall  not  see  or  hear  them  more  until  that  day  shall 

come  : 
Then  they  must  speak;  what  will  they  say?  —  what 

then  will  be  the  sum  ?  — 

Shall  we  stand  upon  the  left,  and  she  upon  the  right  — 
We  smirched   with   endless    death    and   shame,  she 

glorified  in  white  — 
Will  she  sound  our  accusation  in  intolerable  light? 
12  July  1856. 


io8  GONE  BEFORE 


GONE  BEFORE 

SHE  was  most  like  a  rose  when  it  flushes  rarest, 
She  was  most  like  a  lily  when  it  blows  fairest, 
She  was  most  like  a  violet  sweetest  on  the  bank : 
Now  she's  only  like  the  snow,  cold  and  blank, 
After  the  sun  sank. 

She  left  us  in  the  early  days ;  she  would  not  linger 
For  orange  blossoms  in  her  hair,  or  ring  on  finger : 

Did  she  deem  windy  grass  more  good  than  these  ? 
Now  the  turf  that's  between  us  and  the  hedging  trees 
Might  as  well  be  seas. 

I  had  trained  a  branch  she  shelters  not  under, 
I  had  reared  a  flower  she  snapped  asunder : 
In  the  bush  and  on  the  stately  bough 
Birds  sing ;  she  who  watched  them  track  the  plough 
Cannot  hear  them  now. 

Every  bird  has  a  nest  hidden  somewhere 
For  itself  and  its  mate  and  joys  that  come  there, 
Though  it  soar  to  the  clouds,  finding  there  its  rest : 
You  sang  in  the  height,  but  no  more  with  eager  breast 
Stoop  to  your  own  nest. 


LIGHT  LOVE  109 

If  I  could  win  you  back  from  heaven-gate  lofty, 
Perhaps  you  would  but  grieve,  returning  softly  : 
Surely  they  w^ould  miss  you  in  the  blessed  throng, 
Miss  your  sweet  voice  in  their  sweetest  song, 
Reckon  time  too  long. 


Earth  is   not  good   enough  for   you,   my  sweet,   my 

sweetest ; 
Life  on  earth   seemed   long   to   you,  though   to   me 

fleetest ; 
I  would  not  wish  you  back  if  a  wish  would  do  : 
Only,  love,  I  long  for  heaven  with  you. 

Heart-pierced  through  and  through. 
12  July  1856. 


LIGHT   LOVE 

"  /^~^H  sad  thy  lot  before  I  came, 

\^     But  sadder  when  I  go, — 
My  presence  but  a  flash  of  flame, 

A  transitory  glow 
Between  two  barren  wastes  like  snow. 
What  wilt  thou  do  when  I  am  gone? 

Where  wilt  thou  rest,  my  dear? 
For  cold  thy  bed  to  rest  upon. 

And  cold  the  falling  year 
Whose  withered  leaves  are  lost  and  sere." 


no  LIGHT  LOVE 

She  hushed  the  baby  at  her  breast : 

She  rocked  it  on  her  knee  : 
"  And  I  will  rest  my  lonely  rest, 

Warmed  with  the  thought  of  thee, 
Rest  lulled  to  rest  by  memory." 
She  hushed  the  baby  with  her  kiss, 

She  hushed  it  with  her  breast  : 
"  Is  death  so  sadder  much  than  this? 

Sure  death  that  builds  a  nest 
For  those  who  elsewhere  cannot  rest." 


"  Oh  sad  thy  note,  my  mateless  dove^ 

With  tender  nesthng  cold  : 
But  hast  thou  ne'er  another  love 

Left  from  the  days  of  old 
To  build  thy  nest  of  silk  and  gold? 
To  warm  thy  paleness  to  a  blush 

When  I  am  far  away,  — 
To  warm  thy  coldness  to  a  flush 

And  turn  thee  back  to  May, 
And  turn  thy  twihght  back  to  day/' 

She  did  not  answer  him  a  word. 
But  leaned  her  face  aside, 

Sick  with  the  pain  of  hope  deferred 
And  sore  with  wounded  pride  : 

He  knew  his  very  soul  had  lied. 

She  strained  his  baby  in  her  arms, 
His  baby  to  her  heart : 


LIGHT  LOVE  iii 

"  Even  let  it  go,  the  love  that  harms ; 

We  two  will  never  part : 
Mine  own,  his  own,  how  dear  thou  art !  " 

"  Now  never  teaze  me,  tender-eyed, 

Sigh-voiced,"  he  said  in  scorn  : 
"  For  nigh  at  hand  there  blooms  a  bride, 

My  bride  before  the  morn  : 
Ripe-blooming  she,  as  thou  forlorn. 
Ripe-blooming  she,  my  rose,  my  peach  : 

She  woos  me  day  and  night : 
I  watch  her  tremble  in  my  reach : 

She  reddens,  my  dehght. 
She  ripens,  reddens,  in  my  sight." 

"  And  is  she  Hke  a  sunht  rose  ? 

Am  I  like  withered  leaves  ? 
Haste  where  thy  spiced  garden  blows  : 

But  in  bare  autumn  eves 
Wilt  thou  have  store  of  harvest-sheaves  ? 
Thou  leavest  love,  true  love  behind, 

To  seek  a  love  as  true  : 
Go  seek  in  haste,  —  but  wilt  thou  find  ? 

Change  new  again  for  new. 
Pluck  up,  enjoy,  yea  trample  too. 

^'  Alas  for  her,  poor  faded  rose, 

Alas  for  her  like  me. 
Cast  down  and  trampled  in  the  snows."  — 


112  WINTER 

^^  Like  thee  ?  nay  not  like  thee  : 
She  leans,  but  from  a  guarded  tree. 
Farewell,  and  dream  as  long  ago 

Before  we  ever  met : 
Farewell :  my  swift-paced  horse  seems  slow."- 

She  raised  her  eyes,  not  wet 
But  hard,  to  Heaven  :  "  Dost  Thou  forget?  " 

28  October  1856. 


WINTER 

SWEET  blackbird  is   silenced  with  chaffinch  and 
thrush. 
Only  waistcoated  robin  still  chirps  in  the  bush : 
Soft  sun-loving  swallows  have  mustered  in  force. 
And  winged  to   the   spice-teaming   southlands   their 
course. 

Plump  housekeeper  dormouse  has  tucked  himself  neat, 
Just  a  brown  ball  in  moss  with  a  morsel  to  eat : 
Armed  hedgehog  has  huddled  him  into  the  hedge. 
While  frogs  scarce  miss  freezing  deep  down  in  the 
sedge. 

Soft  swallows  have  left  us  alone  in  the  lurch. 
But  robin  sits  whistling  to  us  from  his  perch : 
If  I  were  red  robin,  I'd  pipe  you  a  tune 
Would  make  you  despise  all  the  beauties  of  June. 


A    TRIAD  113 

But,  since  that  cannot  be,  let  us  draw  round  the  fire, 
Munch  chestnuts,  tell  stories,  and  stir  the  blaze  higher  : 
We'll  comfort  pinched  robin  with  crumbs,  little  man, 
Till  he  sings  us  the  very  best  song  that  he  can. 

28  November  1856. 


A   TRIAD 

THREE  sang  of  love  together  :  one  with  lips 
Crimson,  with  cheeks  and  bosom  in  a  glow, 
Flushed  to  the  yellow  hair  and  finger-tips  ; 

And  one  there  sang  who  soft  and  smooth  as  snow 

Bloomed  like  a  tinted  hyacinth  at  a  show ; 
And  one  w^as  blue  with  famine  after  love, 

Who  like  a  harpstring  snapped  rang  harsh  and  low 
The  burden  of  what  those  were  singing  of. 
One  shamed  herself  in  love  ;  one  temperately 

Grew  gross  in  soulless  love,  a  sluggish  wife ; 
One  famished  died  for  love.     Thus  two  of  three 

Took  death  for  love  and  won  him  after  strife ; 
One  droned  in  sweetness  hke  a  fattened  bee  : 

All  on  the  threshold,  yet  all  short  of  life. 

18  December  1856. 


k 


114  ^N  AN  ARTISTS  STUDIO 


IN   AN   ARTIST'S   STUDIO 

ONE  face  looks  out  from  all  his  canvases, 
One  selfsame  figure  sits  or  walks  or  leans  : 

We  found  her  hidden  just  behind  those  screens, 
That  mirror  gave  back  all  her  loveliness. 
A  queen  in  opal  or  in  ruby  dress, 

A  nameless  girl  in  freshest  summer-greens, 

A  saint,  an  angel  —  every  canvas  means 
The  same  one  meaning,  neither  more  nor  less. 
He  feeds  upon  her  face  by  day  and  night, 

And  she  with  true  kind  eyes  looks  back  on  him, 
Fair  as  the  moon  and  joyful  as  the  Hght : 

Not  wan  with  waiting,  not  with  sorrow  dim ; 
Not  as  she  is,  but  was  when  hope  shone  bright ; 

Not  as  she  is,  but  as  she  fills  his  dream. 

24  December  1856. 


INTROSPECTIVE  1 1 5 


INTROSPECTIVE 

I  WISH  it  were  over  the  terrible  pain, 
Pang  after  pang  again  and  again : 
First  the  shattering  ruining  blow, 
Then  the  probing  steady  and  slow. 

Did  I  wince  ?  I  did  not  faint : 
My  soul  broke  but  was  not  bent : 
Up  I  stand  Hke  a  blasted  tree 
By  the  shore  of  the  shivering  sea. 

On  my  boughs  neither  leaf  nor  fruit. 
No  sap  in  my  uttermost  root, 
Brooding  in  an  anguish  dumb 
On  the  short  past  and  the  long  to-come. 

Dumb  I  was  when  the  ruin  fell. 
Dumb  I  remain  and  will  never  tell ; 

0  my  soul,  I  talk  with  thee. 

But  not  another  the  sight  must  see. 

1  did  not  start  when  the  torture  stung, 

I  did  not  faint  when  the  torture  wrung : 
Let  it  come  tenfold  if  come  it  must, 
But  I  will  not  groan  when  I  bite  the  dust. 

2P  June  1857. 


ii6 


DAY-DREAMS 


DAY-DREAMS 

GAZING  through  her  chamber  window 
Sits  my  soul's  dear  soul : 
Looking  northward,  looking  southward, 

Looking  to  the  goal, 
Looking  back  without  control. 

I  have  strewn  thy  path,  beloved, 

With  plumed  meadowsweet, 
Iris  and  pale  perfumed  hlies, 

Roses  most  complete  : 
Wherefore  pause  on  listless  feet? 

But  she  sits  and  never  answers. 

Gazing,  gazing  still 
On  swift  fountain,  shadowed  valley, 

Cedared  sunHt  hill : 
Who  can  guess  or  read  her  will? 


Who  can  guess  or  read  the  spirit 
Shrined  within  her  eyes. 

Part  a  longing,  part  a  languor, 
Part  a  mere  surprise. 

While  slow  mists  do  rise  and  rise  ? 


DAY-DREAMS  117 

Is  it  love  she  looks  and  longs  for, 

Is  it  rest  or  peace, 
Is  it  slumber  self- forgetful 

In  its  utter  ease, 
Is  it  one  or  all  of  these  ? 

So  she  sits  and  doth  not  answer 

With  her  dreaming  eyes, 
With  her  languid  look  deHcious 

Almost  paradise. 
Less  than  happy,  over-wise. 

Answer  me,  O  self- forgetful  — 

Or  of  what  beside  ?  — 
Is  it  day-dream  of  a  maiden, 

Vision  of  a  bride, 
Is  it  knowledge,  love,  or  pride  ? 

Cold  she  sits  through  all  my  kindling, 

Deaf  to  all  I  pray  : 
I  have  wasted  might  and  wisdom. 

Wasted  night  and  day  : 
Deaf  she  dreams  to  all  I  say. 

Now  if  I  could  guess  her  secret, 

Were  it  worth  the  guess?  — 
Time  is  lessening,  hope  is  lessening. 

Love  grows  less  and  less  : 
What  care  I  for  no  or  yes? 


ri8  A   NIGHTMARE 

I  will  give  her  stately  burial, 
Though,  when  she  lies  dead  : 

For  dear  memory  of  the  past  time, 
Of  her  royal  head. 

Of  the  much  I  strove  and  said. 

I  will  give  her  stately  burial, 
Stately  willow-branches  bent : 

Have  her  carved  in  alabaster, 
As  she  dreamed  and  leant 

While  I  wondered  what  she  meant. 

8  September  1857. 


A   NIGHTMARE 

Fragment 

HAVE  a  friend  in  ghostland  — 
Early  found,  ah  me  how  early  lost !  - 
Blood-red  seaweeds  drip  along  that  coastland 
By  the  strong  sea  wrenched  and  tost. 


I 


If  I  wake  he  hunts  me  like  a  nightmare  : 

I  feel  my  hair  stand  up,  my  body  creep  : 
Without  light  I  see  a  blasting  sight  there, 
See  a  secret  I  must  keep. 

12  September  1857. 


FOR    ONE  SAKE  119 


FOR   ONE   SAKE 

ONE  passed  me  like  a  flash  of  lightning  by, 
To  ring  clear  bells  of  heaven  beyond  the  stars. 

Then  said  I  :  Wars  and  rumours  of  your  wars 
Are  dull  with  din  of  what  and  where  and  why  : 
My  heart  is  where  these  troubles  draw  not  nigh  : 

Let  me  alone  till  heaven  shall  burst  its  bars, 

Break  up  its  fountains,  roll  its  flashing  cars 
Earthwards  with  fire  to  test  and  purify. 
Let  me  alone  to-night,  and  one  night  more 

Of  which  I  shall  not  count  the  eventide  : 
Its  morrow  will  not  be  as  days  before  : 
Let  me  alone  to  dream,  perhaps  to  weep  : 

To  dream  of  her  the  imperishable  bride. 
Dream  while  I  wake  and  dream  on  while  I  sleep. 

25  October  1857. 


120  TO-DAY  AND    TO-MORROW 


FROM   METASTASIO 


FIRST,  last,  and  dearest, 
My  love,  mine  own, 
Thee  best  beloved. 
Thee  love  alone, 
Once  and  for  ever 
So  love  I  thee. 

First  as  a  suppliant 
Love  makes  his  moan. 

Then  as  a  monarch 
Sets  up  his  throne  : 

Once  and  for  ever  — 
So  love  I  thee. 


Circa  1857. 


TO-DAY  AND  TO-MORROW 


ALL  the  world  is  out  in  leaf. 
Half  the  world  in  flower, 
Earth  has  waited  weeks  and  weeks 

For  this  special  hour  : 
Faint  the  rainbow  comes  and  goes 
On  a  sunny  shower. 


TO-DAY  AND    TO-MORROW  T2I 

All  the  world  is  making  love  : 

Bird  to  bird  in  bushes, 
Beast  to  beast  in  glades,  and  frog 

To  frog  among  the  rushes  : 
Wake,  O  south  wind  sweet  with  spice, 

Wake  the  rose  to  blushes. 


Life  breaks  forth  to  right  and  left — 
Pipe  wild-wood  notes  cheery. 

Nevertheless  there  are  the  dead 
Fast  asleep  and  weary  — 

To-day  we  live,  to-day  we  love, 
Wake  and  listen,  deary. 


I  wish  I  were  dead,  my  foe. 
My  friend,  I  wish  I  were  dead, 
With  a  stone  at  my  tired  feet 
And  a  stone  at  my  tired  head. 

In  the  pleasant  April  days 
Half  the  world  will  stir  and  sing, 
But  half  the  world  will  slug  and  rot 
For  all  the  sap  of  Spring. 
2<^  June  1858. 


122  YET  A   LITTLE   WHILE 


YET   A   LITTLE  WHILE 

THESE  days  are  long  before  I  die : 
To  sit  alone  upon  a  thorn 
Is  what  the  nightingale  forlorn 
Does  night  by  night  continually : 
She  swells  her  heart  to  ecstasy 
Until  it  bursts  and  she  can  die. 

These  days  are  long  that  wane  and  wax : 
Waxeth  and  wanes  the  ghostly  moon, 
Achill  and  pale  in  cordial  June  : 

What  is  it  that  she  wandering  lacks  ? 

She  seems  as  one  that  aches  and  aches, 

Most  sick  to  wane,  most  sick  to  wax. 

Of  all  the  sad  sights  in  the  world 

The  downfall  of  an  Autumn  leaf 

Is  grievous  and  suggesteth  grief : 
Who  thought  when  Spring  was  fresh  unfurled 
Of  this  ?  when  Spring-twigs  gleamed  impearled 
Who  thought  of  frost  that  nips  the  world  ? 

There  are  a  hundred  subtle  stings 
To  prick  us  in  our  daily  walk : 
A  young  fruit  cankered  on  its  stalk, 

A  strong  bird  snared  for  all  his  wings, 

A  nest  that  sang  but  never  sings  : 

Yea  sight  and  sound  and  silence  stings. 


YET  A   LITTLE    WHILE  123 

There  is  a  lack  in  solitude, 

There  is  a  load  in  throng  of  life  : 
One  with  another  genders  strife, 
To  be  alone  yet  is  not  good  : 
I  know  but  of  one  neighbourhood 
At  peace  and  full  —  death's  solitude. 

Sleep  soundly,  dears,  who  lulled  at  last 
Forget  the  bird  and  all  her  pains. 
Forget  the  moon  that  waxes,  wanes, 
The  leaf,  the  sting,  the  frostful  blast : 
Forget  the  troublous  years  that,  past 
In  strife  or  ache,  did  end  at  last. 

We  have  clear  call  of  daily  bells, 
A  dimness  where  the  anthems  are, 
A  chancel  vault  of  sky  and  star, 

A  thunder  if  the  organ  swells  : 

Alas  our  daily  life — what  else?  — 

Is  not  in  tune  with  daily  bells. 

Yoti  have  deep  pause  betwixt  the  chimes 
Of  earth  and  heaven,  a  patient  pause 
Yet  glad  with  rest  by  certain  laws  : 
You  look  and  long  :  while  oftentimes 
Precursive  flush  of  morning  climbs. 
And  air  vibrates  with  coming  chimes. 
6  August  1858. 


124  FATHER  AND  LOVER 

FATHER  AND   LOVER 

Father 

IF  underneath  the  water 
You  comb  your  golden  hair 
With  a  golden  comb,  my  daughter, 

Oh  would  that  I  were  there  ! 
If  underneath  the  wave 
You  fill  a  slimy  grave, 
Would  that  I,  who  could  not  save. 
Might  share. 

Lover 

If  my  love  Hero  queens  it 
In  summer  Fairyland, 
What  would  I  be 
But  the  ring  on  her  hand? 

Her  cheek  when  she  leans  it 
Would  lean  on  me  :  — 

Or  sweet,  bitter-sweet. 
The  flower  that  she  wore 

When  we  parted,  to  meet 
On  the  hither  shore 
Any  more?  never  more. 

Circa  i8q8. 


WHAT  GOOD  SHALL  MY  LIFE  DO  ME?     125 


WHAT   GOOD    SHALL   MY    LIFE    DO   ME? 

NO  hope  in  life  :  yet  is  there  hope 
In  death,  the  threshold  of  man's  scope. 
Man  yearneth  (as  the  hehotrope 

For  ever  seeks  the  sun)  through  light, 
Through  dark,  for  Love  :  all,  read  aright, 
Is  Love,  for  Love  is  infinite. 

Shall  not  this  infinite  Love  suffice 

To  feed  thy  dearth?     Lift  heart  and  eyes 

Up  to  the  hills,  grow  glad  and  wise. 

The  hills  are  glad  because  the  sun 
Kisses  their  round  tops  every  one 
Where  silver  fountains  laugh  and  run  : 

Smooth  pebbles  shine  beneath  :  beside, 
The  grass,  mere  green,  grows  myriad- eyed 
With  pomp  of  blossoms  veined  or  pied. 

So  every  nest  is  glad  whereon 

The  sun  in  tender  strength  has  shone  : 

So  every  fruit  he  glows  upon : 

So  every  valley  depth,  whose  herds 
At  pasture  praise  him  without  words  : 
So  the  winged  ecstasies  of  birds. 


126     WHAT  GOOD  SHALL  MY  LLFE  DO  ME F 

If  there  be  any  such  thing,  what 
Is  there  by  sunhght  betters  not? 
Nothing  except  dead  things  that  rot. 

Thou  then  who  art  not  dead,  and  fit, 
Like  blasted  tree  beside  the  pit. 
But  for  the  axe  that  levels  it, 

Living  show  life  of  Love,  whereof 

The  force  wields  earth  and  heaven  above  : 

Who  knows  not  Love  begetteth  Love  ? 

Love  in  the  gracious  rain  distils : 
Love  moves  the  subtle  fountain-rills 
To  fertilize  uplifted  hills. 

And  seedful  valleys  fertiHze  : 
Love  stills  the  hungry  lion's  cries, 
And  the  young  raven  satisfies : 

Love  hangs  this  earth  in  space  :  Love  rolls 
Fair  worlds  rejoicing  on  their  poles. 
And  girds  them  round  with  aureoles  : 

Love  lights  the  sun  :  Love  through  the  dark 

Lights  the  moon's  evanescent  arc  : 

Same  Love  lights  up  the  glow-worm's  spark : 

Love  rears  the  great :  Love  tends  the  small : 
Breaks  off  the  yoke,  breaks  down  the  wall : 
Accepteth  all,  fulfilleth  all. 


.    COUSIN  KATE  127 

O  ye  who  taste  that  Love  is  sweet, 
Set  waymarks  for  the  doubtful  feet 
That  stumble  on  in  search  of  it. 

Sing  hymns  of  Love,  that  those  who  hear 
Far  off  in  pain  may  lend  an  ear. 
Rise  up  and  wonder  and  draw  near. 

Lead  lives  of  Love,  that  others  who 
Behold  your  lives  may  kindle  too 
With  Love  and  cast  their  lots  with  you. 
27  August  1859. 


COUSIN   KATE 

I  WAS  a  cottage-maiden 
Hardened  by  sun  and  air, 
Contented  with  my  cottage-mates, 

Not  mindful  I  was  fair. 
Why  did  a  great  lord  find  me  out 

And  praise  my  flaxen  hair? 
Why  did  a  great  lord  find  me  out 
To  fill  my  heart  with  care  ? 

He  lured  me  to  his  palace-home  — 
Woe's  me  for  joy  thereof — 

To  lead  a  shameless  shameful  life. 
His  plaything  and  his  love. 


128  COUSIN-  KATE 

He  wore  me  like  a  golden  knot, 
He  changed  me  like  a  glove  : 

So  now  I  moan  an  unclean  thing 
Who  might  have  been  a  dove. 

O  Lady  Kate,  my  Cousin  Kate, 

You  grew  more  fair  than  I : 
He  saw  you  at  your  father's  gate. 

Chose  you  and  cast  me  by. 
He  watched  your  steps  along  the  lane, 

Your  sport  among  the  rye  : 
He  Hfted  you  from  mean  estate 

To  sit  with  him  on  high. 

Because  you  were  so  good  and  pure 

He  bound  you  with  his  ring : 
The  neighbours  call  you  good  and  pure, 

Call  me  an  outcast  thing. 
Even  so  I  sit  and  howl  in  dust. 

You  sit  in  gold  and  sing  : 
Now  which  of  us  has  tenderer  heart? 

You  had  the  stronger  wing. 

0  Cousin  Kate,  my  love  was  true, 
Your  love  was  writ  in  sand  : 

If  he  had  fooled  not  me  but  you. 
If  you  stood  where  I  stand, 

He  had  not  won  me  with  his  love 
Nor  bought  me  with  his  land  : 

1  would  have  spit  into  his  face 

And  not  have  taken  his  hand. 


SISTER  MAUDE  129 

Yet  I've  a  gift  you  have  not  got 

And  seem  not  like  to  get : 
For  all  your  clothes  and  wedding-ring 

IVe  little  doubt  you  fret. 
My  fair-haired  son,  my  shame,  my  pride, 

CHng  closer,  closer  yet : 
Your  sire  would  give  broad  lands  for  one 

To  wear  his  coronet. 

18  Nov e f fiber  1859. 


SISTER  MAUDE 

WHO  told  my  mother  of  my  shame, 
Who  told  my  father  of  my  dear? 
Oh  who  but  Maude,  my  sister  Maude, 
Who  lurked  to  spy  and  peer. 

Cold  he  lies,  as  cold  as  stone, 

With  his  clotted  curls  about  his  face  : 

The  comeliest  corpse  in  all  the  world 
And  worthy  of  a  queen's  embrace. 

You  might  have  spared  his  soul,  sister, 
Have  spared  my  soul,  your  own  soul  too : 

Though  I  had  not  been  born  at  all, 
He'd  never  have  looked  at  you. 


I30  PROMISES  LIKE  PIE-CRUST 

My  father  may  sleep  in  Paradise, 
My  mother  at  Heaven-gate  : 

But  sister  Maude  shall  get  no  sleep 
Either  early  or  late. 

My  father  may  wear  a  golden  gown, 
My  mother  a  crown  may  win ; 

If  my  dear  and  I  knocked  at  Heaven-gate 
Perhaps  they'd  let  us  in  : 

But  sister  Maude,  O  sister  Maude, 
'^idit  you  with  death  and  sin. 
Circa  i860. 


PROMISES   LIKE   PIE-CRUST 

PROMISE  me  no  promises. 
So  will  I  not  promise  you : 
Keep  we  both  our  liberties. 

Never  false  and  never  true  : 
Let  us  hold  the  die  uncast. 

Free  to  come  as  free  to  go  : 
For  I  cannot  know  your  past, 

And  of  mine  what  can  you  know  ? 

You,  so  warm,  may  once  have  been 
Warmer  towards  another  one  : 

I,  so  cold,  may  once  have  seen 
Sunlight,  once  have  felt  the  sun : 


BETTER  SO  131 

Who  shall  show  us  if  it  was 

Thus  indeed  in  time  of  old? 
Fades  the  image  from  the  glass, 

And  the  fortune  is  not  told. 

If  you  promised,  you  might  grieve 

For  lost  liberty  again  : 
If  I  promised,  I  believe 

I  should  fret  to  break  the  chain  : 
Let  us  be  the  friends  we  were, 

Nothing  more  but  nothing  less  : 
Many  thrive  on  frugal  fare 

Who  would  perish  of  excess. 
20  April  1 861. 


BETTER   SO 

Fx\ST  asleep,  mine  own  familiar  friend. 
Fast  asleep  at  last : 
Though  the  pain  was  strong. 
Though  the  struggle  long, 
It  is  past : 
All  thy  pangs  are  at  an  end. 

Whilst  I  weep,  whilst  death-bells  toll, 

Thou  art  fast  asleep. 
With  idle  hands  upon  thy  breast 
And  heart  at  rest : 
Whilst  I  weep 
Angels  sing  around  thy  singing  soul. 


132  BETTER  SO 

Who  would  wish  thee  back  upon  the  rough 
Wearisome  dangerous  road? 
Wish  back  thy  toil-spent  soul 
Just  at  the  goal  ? 
My  soul,  praise  God 
For  one  dear  soul  which  hath  enough. 


I  would  not  fetch  thee  back  to  hope  with  me 
A  sickening  hope  deferred, 
To  taste  the  cup  that  sHps 
From  thirsty  hps  : 
Hast  thou  not  heard 
What  was  to  hear,  and  seen  what  was  to  see  ? 

I  would  not  speak  the  word  if  I  could  raise 
My  dead  to  life  : 
I  would  not  speak 
If  I  could  flush  thy  cheek 
And  rouse  thy  pulses'  strife 
And  send  thy  feet  on  the  once-trodden  ways. 


How  could  I  meet  the  dear  rebuke 
If  thou  shouldst  say  : 
"  O  friend  of  little  faith. 
Good  was  my  lot  of  death, 
And  good  my  day 
Of  rest,  and  good  the  sleep  I  took  "? 
13  December  1861. 


OUR  WIDOWED  QUEEN-  133 


OUR   WIDOWED    QUEEN 

THE  Husband  of  the  widow  care  for  her, 
The  Father  of  the  fatherless  : 
The  faithful  Friend,  the  abiding  Comforter, 
Watch  over  her  to  bless. 

Full  twenty  years  of  blameless  married  faith, 

Of  love  and  honour  questioned  not, 
Joys,  griefs  imparted  :  for  the  first  time  Death 
Sunders  the  common  lot. 

Christ  help  the  desolate  Queen  upon  her  throne, 

Strengthen  her  hands,  confirm  her  heart : 
For  she  henceforth  must  bear  a  load  alone 
Borne  until  now  in  part. 

Christ  help  the  desolate  Woman  in  her  home. 

Broken  of  heart,  indeed  bereft : 
Shrinking  from  soHtary  days  to  come, 
Beggared  though  much  is  left. 

Rise  up,  O  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  Dead, 
Weep  with  your  Mother  where  she  weeps  : 
Yet  not  as  sorrowing  without  hope  be  shed 
Your  tears  :  he  only  sleeps. 


134  ^^  PROGRESS 

Rise  up,  O  Sons  and  Daughters  of  the  reahn, 

In  pale  reflected  sorrow  move  : 
Revere  the  widowed  hand  that  holds  the  helm, 
Love  her  with  double  love. 

In  royal  patience  of  her  soul  possest 
May  she  fulfil  her  length  of  days  : 
Then  may  her  children  rise  and  call  her  blest. 
Then  may  her  Husband  praise. 

1 6  December  1861. 


IN   PROGRESS 

TEN  years  ago  it  seemed  impossible 
That  she  should  ever  grow  so  calm  as  this. 
With  self-remembrance  in  her  warmest  kiss 
And  dim  dried  eyes  like  an  exhausted  w^ell. 
Slow-speaking  when  she  has  some  fact  to  tell, 
Silent  with  long-unbroken  silences. 
Centred  in  self  yet  not  unpleased  to  please, 
Gravely  monotonous  like  a  passing  bell. 
Mindful  of  drudging  daily  common  things, 
Patient  at  pastime,  patient  at  her  work. 
Wearied  perhaps  but  strenuous  certainly. 
Sometimes  I  fancy  we  may  one  day  see 
Her  head  shoot  forth  seven  stars  from  where  they 
lurk 
And  her  eyes  lightnings  and  her  shoulders  wings. 

31  March  1862. 


SEASOiVS  135 


SEASONS 


OH  the  cheerful  Budding-time  ! 
When  thorn-hedges  turn  to  green, 
When  new  leaves  of  elm  and  lime 

Cleave  and  shed  their  winter  screen ; 
Tender  lambs  are  born  and  baa, 

North  wind  finds  no  snow  to  bring, 
Vigorous  Nature  laughs  ^'  Ha  ha  !  " 
In  the  miracle  of  Spring. 

Oh  the  gorgeous  Blossom-days  ! 

When  broad  flag-flowers  drink  and  blow, 
In  and  out  in  Summer-blaze 

Dragon-flies  flash  to  and  fro ; 
Ashen  branches  hang  out  keys ; 

Oaks  put  forth  the  rosy  shoot. 
Wandering  herds  wax  sleek  at  ease. 

Lovely  blossoms  end  in  fruit. 

Oh  the  shouting  Harvest-weeks  ! 

Mother  Earth  grown  fat  with  sheaves ; 
Thrifty  gleaner  finds  who  seeks ; 

Russet-golden  pomp  of  leaves 
Crowns  the  woods,  to  fall  at  length ; 

Bracing  w4nds  are  felt  to  stir. 
Ocean  gathers  up  her  strength, 

Beasts  renew  their  dwindled  fur. 


i3<5 


JUNE 


Oh  the  starving  Winter  lapse  ! 

Ice-bound,  hunger-pinched,  and  dim ; 
Dormant  roots  recall  their  saps, 

Empty  nests  show  black  and  grim. 
Short-lived  sunshine  gives  no  heat. 

Undue  buds  are  nipped  by  frost, 
Snow  sets  forth  a  winding-sheet, 

And  all  hope  of  life  seems  lost. 

20  January  1863. 


Q 


JUNE 

^OME,  cuckoo,  come  : 

Come  again,  swift  swallow : 
Come  and  welcome  !  when  you  come 
Summer's  sure  to  follow  : 
June  the  month  of  months 
Flowers  and  fruitage  brings  too, 
When  green  trees  spread  shadiest  boughs, 
When  each  wild  bird  sings  too. 

May  is  scant  and  crude. 

Generous  June  is  riper : 
Birds  fall  silent  in  July, 

June  has  its  woodland  piper : 
Rocks  upon  the  maple-tops 

Homely-hearted  linnet. 
Full  in  hearing  of  his  nest 

And  the  dear  ones  in  it. 


JESS  AIVD  JILL  137 

If  the  year  would  stand 

Still  at  June  for  ever, 
With  no  further  growth  on  land 

Nor  further  flow  of  river, 
If  all  nights  were  shortest  nights 
And  longest  days  were  all  the  seven, 
This  might  be  a  merrier  world 

To  my  mind  to  live  in. 
5  February  1862. 


JESS  AND   JILL 

JESS  and  Jill  are  pretty  girls, 
Plump  and  well  to  do, 
In  a  cloud  of  windy  curls  : 
Yet  I  know  who 
Loves  me  more  than  curls  or  pearls. 

I'm  not  pretty,  not  a  bit  — 

Thin  and  sallow-pale ; 
When  I  trudge  along  the  street 

I  don't  need  a  veil : 
Yet  I  have  one  fancy  hit. 

Jess  and  Jill  can  trill  and  sing 

With  a  flute-like  voice, 
Dance  as  hght  as  bird  on  wing, 

Laugh  for  careless  joys  : 
Yet  it's  I  who  wear  the  ring. 


138  HELEN  GREY 

Jess  and  Jill  will  mate  some  day, 

Surely,  surely  : 
Ripen  on  to  June  through  May, 
While  the  sun  shines  make  their  hay- 

Slacken  steps  demurely : 
Yet  even  there  I  lead  the  way. 

20  February  1863. 


HELEN   GREY 

BECAUSE  one  loves  you,  Helen  Grey, 
Is  that  a  reason  you  should  pout. 
And  like  a  March  wind  veer  about, 
And  frown,  and  say  your  shrewish  say? 
Don't  strain  the  cord  until  it  snaps, 

Don't  split  the  sound  heart  with  your  wedge, 
Don't  cut  your  fingers  with  the  edge 
Of  your  keen  wit ;  you  may  perhaps. 

Because  you're  handsome,  Helen  Grey, 

Is  that  a  reason  to  be  proud  ? 

Your  eyes  are  bold,  your  laugh  is  loud. 
Your  steps  go  mincing  on  their  way ; 
But  so  you  miss  that  modest  charm 

Which  is  the  surest  charm  of  all ; 

Take  heed,  you  yet  may  trip  and  fall. 
And  no  man  care  to  stretch  his  arm. 


I 


A   DUMB   FRIEND  139 

Stoop  from  your  cold  height,  Helen  Grey, 
Come  down,  and  take  a  lowlier  place. 
Come  down,  to  fill  it  now  with  grace  ; 

Come  down  you  must  perforce  some  day : 

For  years  cannot  be  kept  at  bay. 

And  fading  years  will  make  you  old ; 
Then  in  their  turn  will  men  seem  cold, 

When  you  yourself  are  nipped  and  grey. 

23  February  1863. 


A   DUMB   FRIEND 

I  PLANTED  a  young  tree  when  I  was  young  : 
But  now  the  tree  is  grown  and  I  am  old  : 
There  wintry  robin  shelters  from  the  cold 
And  tunes  his  silver  tongue. 

A  green  and  living  tree  I  planted  it, 
A  glossy-foliaged  tree  of  evergreen  : 
All  through  the  noontide  heat  it  spread  a  screen 
Whereunder  I  might  sit. 

But  now  I  only  watch  it  where  it  towers  : 
I,  sitting  at  my  window,  watch  it  tost 
By  rattling  gale,  or  silvered  by  the  frost : 
Or,  when  sweet  summer  flowers, 

Wagging  its  round  green  head  with  stately  grace 
In  tender  winds  that  kiss  it  and  go  by : 


I40  TO-MORROW 

It  shows  a  green  full  age  :  and  what  show  I? 
A  faded  wrinkled  face. 

So  often  have  I  watched  it,  till  mine  eyes 
Have  filled  with  tears  and  I  have  ceased  to  see, 
That  now  it  seems  a  very  friend  to  me, 
In  all  my  secrets  wise. 

A  faithful  pleasant  friend,  who  year  by  year 

Grew  with  my  growth  and  strengthened  with  my 

strength. 
But  whose  green  Hfetime  shows  a  longer  length  : 
When  I  shall  not  sit  here 

It  still  will  bud  in  spring,  and  shed  rare  leaves 
In  autumn,  and  in  summer-heat  give  shade, 
And  warmth  in  winter  :  when  my  bed  is  made 
Tn  shade  the  cypress  weaves. 

24  March  1863. 


TO-MORROW 

WHERE  my  heart  is  (wherever  that  may  be) 
Might  I  but  follow  ! 
If  you  fly  thither  over  lane  and  lea 
O  honey-seeking  bee, 
O  careless  swallow, 
Bid  some  for  whom  I  watch  keep  watch  for  me. 


I 


MARGERY  141 

Alas  that  we  must  dwell,  my  heart  and  I, 

So  far  asunder  ! 
Hours  wax  to  days,  and  days  and  days  creep  by : 
I  watch  with  wistful  eye, 

I  wait  and  wonder  : 
When  will  that  day  draw  nigh,  that  hour  draw  nigh  ? 

Not  yesterday,  and  not  I  think  to-day  : 

Perhaps  to-morrow. 
Day  after  day  "to-morrow  "  thus  I  say  : 
I  watched  so  yesterday 

In  hope  and  sorrow ; 
Again  to-day  I  watch  the  accustomed  way. 

2^  June  1863. 


MARGERY 

WHAT  shall  we  do  with  Margery? 
She  lies  and  cries  upon  her  bed, 
All  lily- pale  from  foot  to  head ; 
Her  heart  is  sore  as  sore  can  be  : 
Poor  guileless  shamefaced  Margery. 

A  foolish  girl,  to  love  a  man 

And  let  him  know  she  loved  him  so  ! 

She  should  have  tried  a  different  plan  : 
Have  loved,  but  not  have  let  him  know : 
Then  he  perhaps  had  loved  her  so. 


142  MARGERY 

What  can  we  do  with  Margery 
Who  has  no  relish  for  her  food  ? 

We'd  take  her  with  us  to  the  sea  — 

Across  the  sea  —  but  where's  the  good? 

She'd  fret  ahke  on  land  and  sea. 

Yes,  what  the  neighbours  say  is  true  : 

Girls  should  not  make  themselves  so  cheap. 

But  now  it's  done  what  can  we  do  ? 
I  hear  her  moaning  in  her  sleep, 
Moaning  and  sobbing  in  her  sleep. 

I  think  —  and  I'm  of  flesh  and  blood  — 
Were  I  that  man  for  w^hom  she  cares, 
I  w^ould  not  cost  her  tears  and  prayers 

To  leave  her  just  alone  like  mud, 
Fretting  her  simple  heart  with  cares. 

A  year  ago  she  was  a  child. 

Now  she's  a  woman  in  her  grief: 
The  year's  now  at  the  falling  leaf; 
At  budding  of  the  leaves  she  smiled  : 
Poor  foolish  harmless  foolish  child. 

It  was  her  own  fault?  so  it  was. 
If  every  own  fault  found  us  out, 
Dogged  us  and  snared  us  roundabout, 

What  comfort  should  we  take  because 
Not  half  our  due  we  thus  wrung  out  ? 


MARGERY  143 

At  any  rate  the  question  stands  : 

What  now  to  do  with  Margery, 
A  weak  poor  creature  on  our  hands  ? 

Something  we  must  do  :  I'll  not  see 

Her  blossom  fade,  sweet  Margery. 

Perhaps  a  change  may  after  all 

Prove  best  for  her  :  to  leave  behind 
These  home-sights  seen  time  out  of  mind  ; 

To  get  beyond  the  narrow  w^all 

Of  home,  and  learn  home  is  not  all. 

Perhaps  this  way  she  may  forget. 

Not  all  at  once,  but  in  a  while  : 
May  come  to  wonder  how  she  set 

Her  heart  on  this  slight  thing,  and  smile 

At  her  own  folly,  in  a  while. 

Yet  this  I  say  and  I  maintain  : 

Were  I  the  man  she's  fretting  for, 

I  should  my  very  self  abhor 
If  I  could  leave  her  to  her  pain, 
Uncomforted  to  tears  and  pain. 

I  October  1863. 


144  LAST  NIGHT 


LAST   NIGHT 

WHERE  were  you  last  night?  I  watched  at 
the  gate  ; 
I  went  down  early,  I  stayed  down  late. 

Were  you  snug  at  home,  I  should  like  to  know, 
Or  were  you  in  the  coppice  wheedling  Kate? 

She's  a  fine  girl,  with  a  fine  clear  skin ; 
Easy  to  woo,  perhaps  not  hard  to  w^in. 

Speak  up  like  a  man  and  tell  me  the  truth : 
I'm  not  one  to  grow  downhearted  and  thin. 

If  you  love  her  best,  speak  up  like  a  man ; 
It's  not  I  will  stand  in  the  hght  of  your  plan  : 
Some  girls  might  cry  and  scold  you  a  bit, 
And  say  they  couldn't  bear  it ;  but  I  can. 

Love  w^as  pleasant  enough,  and  the  days  went  fast ; 
Pleasant  while  it  lasted,  but  it  needn't  last ; 

xAwhile  on  the  wax,  and  awhile  on  the  wane. 
Now  dropped  away  into  the  past. 

Was  it  pleasant  to  you  ?  to  me  it  was  : 
Now  clean  gone  as  an  image  from  glass, 
As  a  goodly  rainbow  that  fades  away, 
As  dew  that  steams  upward  from  the  grass, 


IF  145 

As  the  first  spring  day  or  the  last  summer  day, 
As  the  sunset  flush  that  leaves  heaven  grey, 

As  a  flame  burnt  out  for  lack  of  oil, 
Which  no  pains  relight  or  ever  may. 

Good  luck  to  Kate  and  good  luck  to  you : 
I  guess  she'll  be  kind  when  you  come  to  woo. 

I  wish  her  a  pretty  face  that  will  last, 
I  wish  her  a  husband  steady  and  true. 

Hate  you  ?  not  I,  my  very  good  friend ; 
All  things  begin  and  all  have  an  end. 

But  let  broken  be  broken ;  I  put  no  faith 
In  quacks  who  set  up  to  patch  and  mend. 

Just  my  love  and  one  word  to  Kate  — 
Not  to  let  time  slip  if  she  means  to  mate  ; 
For  even  such  a  thing  has  been  known 
As  to  miss  the  chance  while  we  weigh  and  wait. 

Nove??iber  1863. 


IF 


IF  he  would  come  to-day,  to-day,  to-day. 
Oh  what  a  day  to-day  would  be  ! 
But  now  he's  away,  miles  and  miles  away 
From  me  across  the  sea. 


146 


IF 


0  little  bird,  flying,  flying,  flying 
To  your  nest  in  the  warm  west, 

Tell  him  as  you  pass  that  I  am  dying, 
As  you  pass  home  to  your  nest. 

I  have  a  sister,  I  have  a  brother, 
A  faithful  hound,  a  tame  white  dove  ; 
But  I  had  another,  once  I  had  another, 
And  I  miss  him,  my  love,  my  love  ! 

In  this  weary  world  it  is  so  cold,  so  cold. 
While  I  sit  here  all  alone ; 

1  would  not  like  to  wait  and  to  grow  old. 

But  just  to  be  dead  and  gone. 

Make  me  fair  when  I  lie  dead  on  my  bed, 
Fair  where  I  am  lying  : 
Perhaps  he  may  come  and  look  upon  me  dead  - 
He  for  whom  I  am  dying. 


Dig  my  grave  for  two,  with  a  stone  to  show  it. 
And  on  the  stone  write  my  name  : 

If  he  never  comes,  I  shall  never  know  it. 
But  sleep  on  all  the  same. 

12  April  1864. 


SUNSHINE  147 


SUNSHINE 

"  'T^HERE'S  little  sunshine  in  my  heart, 

X       Slack  to  spring,  lead  to  sink  : 
There *s  little  sunshine  in  the  world, 
I  think." 

"  There's  glow  of  sunshine  in  my  heart 

(Cool  wind,  cool  the  glow)  : 
There's  flood  of  sunshine  in  the  world, 
I  know." 

Now  if  of  these  one  spoke  the  truth, 

One  spoke  more  or  less  : 
But  which  was  which  I  will  not  tell ; 
You  guess. 
31  May  1864. 


L 


148  MEETING 


MEETING 

IF  we  shall  live,  we  live  : 
If  we  shall  die,  we  die  : 
If  we  live  we  shall  meet  again  : 

But  to-night,  good-bye. 
One  word,  let  but  one  be  heard  — 
What,  not  one  word? 

If  we  sleep  we  shall  wake  again 
And  see  to-morrow's  light : 

If  we  wake,  we  shall  meet  again  : 
But  to-night,  good-night. 
Good-night,  my  lost  and  found - 
Still  not  a  sound? 

If  we  live,  we  must  part : 
If  we  die,  we  part  in  pain  : 

If  we  die,  we  shall  part 

Only  to  meet  again. 
By  those  tears  on  either  cheek, 

To-morrow  you  will  speak. 

To  meet,  worth  living  for  : 
Worth  dying  for,  to  meet. 
To  meet,  worth  parting  for : 
Bitter  forgot  in  sweet. 
To  meet,  worth  parting  before, 
Never  to  part  more. 

II  June  1864. 


UNDER  WILLOWS  149 


UNDER   WILLOWS 

UNDER  willows  among  the  graves 
One  was  walking,  ah  welladay  ! 
Where  each  willow  her  green  boughs  waves, 

Come  April  prime,  come  May. 
Under  willows  among  the  graves 

She  met  her  lost  love,  ah  welladay  ! 
Where  in  Autumn  each  wild  wind  raves 
And  whirls  sere  leaves  away. 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  smile, 
She  looked  at  him  with  a  sigh, 

Both  paused  to  look  awhile  : 
Then  he  passed  by, — 
Passed  by  and  whistled  a  tune  : 
She  stood  silent  and  still : 
It  was  the  sunniest  day  in  June, 

Yet  one  felt  a  chill. 

Under  willows  among  the  graves 
I  know  a  certain  black  black  pool 
Scarce  wrinkled  when  Autumn  raves, 

Under  the  turf  is  cool ; 
Under  the  water  it  must  be  cold  : 
Winter  comes  cold  when  Summer's  past : 
Though  she  live  to  be  old,  so  old. 

She  shall  die  at  last. 
27  July  1864. 


150 


A   SKETCH 


A   SKETCH 

THE  blindest  buzzard  that  I  know 
Does  not  wear  wings  to  spread  and  stir ; 
Nor  does  my  special  mole  wear  fur, 
And  grub  among  the  roots  below : 
He  sports  a  tail  indeed,  but  then 
It's  to  a  coat :  he's  man  with  men  : 
His  quill  is  cut  to  a  pen. 

In  other  points  our  friend's  a  mole, 
A  buzzard,  beyond  scope  of  speech. 
He  sees  not  what's  within  his  reach. 

Misreads  the  part,  ignores  the  whole ; 
Misreads  the  part,  so  reads  in  vain. 
Ignores  the  whole  though  patent  plain,  — 
Misreads  both  parts  again. 


My  blindest  buzzard  that  I  know. 
My  special  mole,  when  will  you  see  ? 
Oh  no,  you  must  not  look  at  me. 

There's  nothing  hid  for  me  to  show. 
I  might  show  facts  as  plain  as  day  : 
But,  since  your  eyes  are  blind,  you'd  say, 
"Where?  What?"  and  turn  away. 

15  August  1864. 


I 


IF  I  HAD  WORDS  151 


IF   I    HAD   WORDS 

IF  I  had  words,  if  I  had  words 
At  least  to  vent  my  misery  :  — 
But  muter  than  the  speechless  herds 

I  have  no  voice  wherewith  to  cry. 
I  have  no  strength  to  lift  my  hands, 

I  have  no  heart  to  lift  mine  eye, 
My  soul  is  bound  with  brazen  bands. 

My  soul  is  crushed  and  Hke  to  die. 
My  thoughts  that  wander  here  and  there. 

That  wander  wander  lisdessly, 
Bring  nothing  back  to  cheer  my  care. 

Nothing  that  I  may  live  thereby. 
My  heart  is  broken  in  my  breast, 

My  breath  is  but  a  broken  sigh  — 
Oh  if  there  be  a  land  of  rest 

It  is  far  off,  it  is  not  nigh. 
If  I  had  wings  as  hath  a  dove. 

If  I  had  wings  that  I  might  fly, 
I  yet  would  seek  the  land  of  love 

Where  fountains  run  which  run  not  dry : 
Though  there  be  none  that  road  to  tell, 

And  long  that  road  is  verily  : 
Then  if  I  lived  I  should  do  well, 

And  if  I  died  I  should  but  die. 
If  I  had  wings  as  hath  a  dove, 

I  would  not  sift  the  what  and  why, 


152  ElV  ROUTE 

I  would  make  haste  to  find  out  Love, 
If  not  to  find  at  least  to  try. 

I  would  make  haste  to  Love,  my  rest  — 
To  Love,  my  truth  that  doth  not  lie  : 

Then  if  I  lived  it  might  be  best, 
Or  if  I  died  I  could  but  die. 
3  September  1864. 


EN    ROUTE 


LIFE  flows  down  to  death  :  we  cannot  bind 
That  current  that  it  should  not  flee  : 
Life  flows  down  to  death,  as  rivers  find 

The  inevitable  sea. 


Wherefore  art  thou  strange,  and  not  my  mother? 
Thou  hast  stolen  my  heart  and  broken  it  : 
Would  that  I  might  call  thy  sons  "My  brother," 

Call  thy  daughters  "  Sister  sweet  "  : 
Lying  in  thy  lap,  not  in  another. 
Dying  at  thy  feet. 

Farewell,  land  of  love,  Italy, 
Sister-land  of  Paradise  : 
With  mine  own  feet  I  have  trodden  thee 
Have  seen  with  mine  own  eyes  : 


EjV  route  153 

I  remember,  thou  forgettest  me, 
I  remember  thee. 

Blessed  be  the  land  that  warms  my  heart, 

And  the  kindly  clime  that  cheers. 
And  the  cordial  faces  clear  from  art. 

And  the  tongue  sweet  in  mine  ears  : 
Take  my  heart,  its  truest  tenderest  part, 
Dear  land,  take  my  tears. 

3 

Men  work  and  think,  but  women  feel : 

And  so  (for  I'm  a  woman,  I) 

And  so  I  should  be  glad  to  die. 
And  cease  from  impotence  of  zeal. 
And  cease  from  hope,  and  cease  from  dread, 

And  cease  from  yearnings  without  gain, 

And  cease  from  all  this  world  of  pain. 
And  be  at  peace  among  the  dead. 

Why  should  I  seek  and  never  find 

That  something  which  I  have  not  had? 
Fair  and  unutterably  sad 

The  world  hath  sought  time  out  of  mind. 

Our  words  have  been  already  said, 
Our  deeds  have  been  already  done  : 
There's  nothing  new  beneath  the  sun, 

But  there  is  peace  among  the  dead. 

June  1865. 


154  HUSBAND   AND  WIFE 


HUSBAND   AND   WIFE 

"  /^^H  kiss  me  once  before  I  go, 

V^     To  make  amends  for  sorrow  : 
Oh  kiss  me  once  before  we  part, 
For  we  mayn't  meet  to-morrow. 

"  And  I  was  wrong  to  force  your  will, 

And  wrong  to  mar  your  life  : 
But  kiss  me  once  before  we  part 

Because  you  are  my  wife." 

She  turned  her  head  and  tossed  her  head, 

And  puckered  up  her  brow  : 
"  I  never  kissed  you  yet,"  said  she, 

"And  ril  not  kiss  you  now. 

"  Though  I'm  your  wife  by  might  and  right 

And  forsworn  marriage  vow, 
I  never  loved  you  yet,"  said  she, 

"  And  I  don't  love  you  now." 

So  he  went  sailing  on  the  sea, 
And  she  sat  crossed  and  ^umb, 

While  he  went  sailing  on  the  sea 
Where  the  storm-winds  come. 


HUSBAND   AND  WIFE  155 

He'd  been  away  a  month  and  day 

Counting  from  morn  to  morn  : 
And  many  buds  had  turned  to  leaves, 

And  many  lambs  been  born, 


And  many  buds  had  turned  to  flowers 

For  Spring  was  in  a  glow, 
When  she  was  laid  upon  her  bed 

As  white  and  cold  as  snow. 

"  Oh  let  me  kiss  my  baby  once. 

Once  before  I  die  : 
And  bring  it  sometimes  to  my  grave 

To  teach  it  where  I  He. 

"  And  tell  my  husband,  when  he  comes 

Safe  back  from  sea, 
To  love  the  baby  that  I  leave 

If  ever  he  loved  me  : 

"  And  tell  him,  not  for  might  or  right 
Or  forsworn  marriage  vow, 

But  for  the  helpless  baby's  sake, 
I  would  have  kissed  him  now.'* 


12  July  1865. 


156  IN  A  CERTAIX  PLACE 


WHAT   TO    DO? 

OMY  love  and  my  own  own  deary  ! 
What  shall  I  do?  my  love  is  weary. 
Sleep,  O  friend,  on  soft  downy  pillow, 
Pass,  O  friend,  as  wind  or  as  billow, 
And  I'll  wear  the  willow. 

No  stone  at  his  head  be  set, 
A  swelling  turf  be  his  coverlet, 
Bound  round  with  a  graveyard  wattle, 
Hedged  round  from  the  trampHng  cattle 
And  the  children's  prattle. 

I  myself,  instead  of  a  stone, 
Will  sit  by  him  to  dwindle  and  moan  : 
Sit  and  weep  with  a  bitter  weeping. 
Sit  and  weep  where  my  love  lies  sleeping. 
While  my  life  goes  creeping. 
4  August  1865. 


IN   A   CERTAIN    PLACE 

I   FOUND  Love  in  a  certain  place 
x\sleep  and  cold  —  or  cold  and  dead  ?  - 
All  ivory-white  upon  his  bed, 
All  ivory-white  his  face. 


IN  A    CERTAIN  PLACE  157 

His  hands  were  folded 
On  his  quiet  breast, 
To  his  figure  laid  at  rest 
Chilly  bed  was  moulded. 


His  hair  hung  lax  about  his  brow, 

I  had  not  seen  his  face  before : 

Or,  if  I  saw  it  once,  it  wore 
Another  aspect  now. 
No  trace  of  last  night's  sorrow. 
No  shadow  of  to-morrow  : 

All  at  peace  (thus  all  sorrows  cease), 
All  at  peace. 

I  wondered  :  Were  his  eyes 
Soft  or  falcon-clear  ? 
I  wondered  :  As  he  lies 
Does  he  feel  me  near? 
In  silence  my  heart  spoke 
And  wondered  :  If  he  woke 
And  found  me  sitting  nigh  him 
And  felt  me  sitting  by  him. 
If  life  flushed  to  his  cheek, 
He  living  man  with  men. 
Then  if  I  heard  him  speak 
Oh  should  I  know  him  then? 


6  March  1866. 


158  CANNOT  SWEETEN 


CANNOT   SWEETEN 

"  TF  that's  water  you  wash  your  hands  in, 

X     Why  is  it  black  as  ink  is  black?  " 
''  Because  my  hands  are  foul  with  my  folly  : 
Oh  the  lost  time  that  comes  not  back ! " 

"  If  that's  water  you  bathe  your  feet  in, 

Why  is  it  red  as  wine  is  red?" 
"  Because  my  feet  sought  blood  in  their  goings. 

Red,  red  is  the  track  they  tread." 

"  Slew  you  mother  or  slew  you  father 
That  your  foulness  passeth  not  by?" 

"  Not  father,  and  oh  not  mother  : 
I  slew  my  love  with  an  evil  eye.'* 

"  Slew  you  sister  or  slew  you  brother 
That  in  peace  you  have  not  a  part?  " 

"  Not  brother  and  oh  not  sister  : 

I  slew  my  love  with  a  hardened  heart. 

"  He  loved  me  because  he  loved  me. 
Not  for  grace  or  beauty  I  had  : 
He  loved  me  because  he  loved  me  : 
For  his  loving  me  I  was  glad. 


I 


CANNOT  SWEETEN  159 

'*  Yet  I  loved  him  not  for  his  loving, 

While  I  played  with  his  love  and  truth, 
Not  loving  him  for  his  loving, 

Wasting  his  joy,  wasting  his  youth. 

"  I  ate  his  life  as  a  banquet, 

I  drank  his  life  as  new  wine, 

I  fattened  upon  his  leanness. 
Mine  to  flourish  and  his  to  pine. 

"  So  his  life  fled  as  running  water, 
So  it  perished  as  water  spilt : 
If  black  my  hands  and  my  feet  as  scarlet. 
Blacker,  redder  my  heart  of  guilt. 

"  Cold  as  a  stone,  as  hard,  as  heavy : 

All  my  sighs  ease  it  no  whit. 

All  my  tears  make  it  no  cleaner, 

Dropping,  dropping,  dropping  on  it." 


8  March  1866. 


L 


i6o  OF  MY  LIFE 


OF   INIY   LIFE 

I  WEARY  of  my  life 
Through  the  long  sultry  day, 
While  happy  creatures  play 
Their  harmless  lives  away  :  — 
What  is  my  life  ? 

I  weary  of  my  life 
Through  the  slow  tedious  night, 
While,  earth  and  heaven's  delight, 
The  moon  walks  forth  in  white  :  — 
What  is  my  Hfe? 

If  I  might,  I  would  die  : 
My  soul  should  flee  away 
To-day  that  is  not  day 
Where  sweet  souls  sing  and  say  — 
If  I  might  die  ! 

If  I  might,  I  would  die  : 
My  body  out  of  sight. 
All  night  that  is  not  night 
My  soul  should  walk  in  white  — 
If  I  might  die  ! 
15  May  1866. 


I 


I 


LOVE'S  NAME  i6i 


WHAT  COMES? 

OH  what  comes  over  the  sea, 
Shoals  and  quicksands  past : 
And  what  comes  home  to  me, 
SaiHng  slow,  sailing  fast? 

A  wind  comes  over  the  sea 
With  a  moan  in  its  blast : 
But  nothing  comes  home  to  me, 
Sailing  slow,  saihng  fast. 

Let  me  be,  let  me  be. 
For  my  lot  is  cast : 
Land  or  sea  all's  one  to  me. 
And  sail  it  slow  or  fast. 
\\  June  1866. 

LOVE'S   NAME 

LOVE  hath  a  name  of  Death  : 
He  gives  a  breath 
And  takes  away. 
Lo  we,  beneath  his  sway. 
Grow  like  a  flower ; 
To  bloom  an  hour. 
To  droop  a  day, 
And  fade  away. 

Circa  1869. 


1 


1 62  BY  WAV  OF  REMEMBRANCE 


BY   WAY   OF   REMEMBRANCE 

REMEMBER,  if  I  claim  too  much  of  you, 
I  claim  it  of  my  brother  and  my  friend  : 

Have  patience  with  me  till  the  hidden  end  — 
Bitter  or  sweet,  in  mercy  shut  from  view. 
Pay  me  my  due  ;  though  I  to  pay  your  due 

Am  all  too  poor,  and  past  what  will  can  mend  : 

Thus  of  your  bounty  you  must  give  and  lend, 
Still  unrepaid  by  aught  I  look  to  do. 
Still  unrepaid  by  aught  of  mine  on  earth  : 

But  overpaid,  please  God,  when  recompense 
Beyond  the  mystic  Jordan  and  new  birth 

Is  dealt  to  virtue  as  to  innocence  ; 
When  Angels  singing  praises  in  their  mirth 

Have  borne  you  in  their  arms  and  fetched   you 
hence. 

Will  you  be  there  ?  my  yearning  heart  has  cried  : 
Ah  me,  my  love,  my  love,  shall  I  be  there, 
To  sit  down  in  your  glory  and  to  share 

Your  gladness,  glowing  as  a  virgin  bride  ? 

Or  will  another  dearer,  fairer- eyed. 
Sit  nigher  to  you  in  your  jubilee. 
And  mindful  one  of  other  will  you  be 

Borne  higher  and  higher  on  joy's  ebbless  tide? 

Yea,  if  I  love  I  will  not  grudge  you  this  : 


I 


BY   WAV  OF  REMEMBRANCE  163 

I  too  shall  float  upon  that  heavenly  sea 

And  sing  my  joyful  praises  without  ache  ; 
Your  overflow  of  joy  shall  gladden  me, 

My  whole  heart  shall  sing  praises  for  your  sake, 
And  find  its  own  fulfilment  in  your  bliss. 

In  Resurrection  is  it  awfuller 

That  rising  of  the  All  or  of  the  Each  — 
Of  all  kins,  of  all  nations,  of  all  speech. 

Or  one  by  one  of  him  and  him  and  her? 

When  dust  reanimate  begins  to  stir 

Here,  there,  beyond,  beyond,  reach  beyond  reach ; 
While  every  wave  disgorges  on  its  beach, 

Alive  or  dead-in-life,  some  seafarer. 

In  Resurrection,  on  the  day  of  days. 

That  day  of  mourning  throughout  all  the  earth, 
In  Resurrection  may  we  meet  again  : 
No  more  with  stricken  hearts  to  part  in  twain ; 
As  once  in  sorrow  one,  now  one  in  mirth. 

One  in  our  resurrection-songs  of  praise. 

I  love  you  and  you  know  it  —  this  at  least. 
This  comfort  is  mine  own  in  all  my  pain  : 
You  know  it,  and  can  never  doubt  again. 

And  love's  mere  self  is  a  continual  feast : 

Not  oath  of  mine  nor  blessing-word  of  priest 

Could  make  my  love  more  certain  or  more  plain. 
Life  as  a  rolling  moon  doth  wax  and  wane  — 

O  weary  moon,  still  rounding,  still  decreased  ! 

Life  wanes  :  and  when  Love  folds  his  wino:s  above 


i64       AJV  ECHO   FROM   WILLOW-WOOD 

Tired  joy,  and  less  we  feel  his  conscious  pulse, 
Let  us  go  fall  asleep,  dear  Friend,  in  peace ;  — 
A  litde  while,  and  age  and  sorrow  cease ; 

A  little  while,  and  love  reborn  annuls 
Loss  and  decay  and  death  —  and  all  is  love. 

1870. 


AN   ECHO   FROM   WILLOW-WOOD 

"  O  ye,  all  ye  that  walk  in  willow-wood." 

D.  G.  ROSSETTI. 

Two  gazed  into  a  pool,  he  gazed  and  she, 
Not  hand  in  hand,  yet  heart  in  heart,  I  think, 
Pale  and  reluctant  on  the  water's  brink, 
As  on  the  brink  of  parting  which  must  be. 
Each  eyed  the  other's  aspect,  she  and  he. 

Each  felt  one  hungering  heart  leap  up  and  sink, 
Each  tasted  bitterness  which  both  must  drink, 
There  on  the  brink  of  life's  dividing  sea. 
Lilies  upon  the  surface,  deep  below 

Two  wistful  faces  craving  each  for  each. 
Resolute  and  reluctant  without  speech  :  — 
A  sudden  ripple  made  the  faces  flow. 

One  moment  joined,  to  vanish  out  of  reach  : 

So  those  hearts  joined,  and  ah  were  parted  so. 
Circa  1870. 


c 


AN  ALPHABET  165 


GOLDEN  HOLLY 

^OMMON  Holly  bears  a  berry 

To  make  Christmas  Robins  merry  :- 
Golden  Holly  bears  a  rose, 
Unfolding  at  October's  close 
To  cheer  an  old  Friend's  eyes  and  nose. 
Circa  1872. 


AN   ALPHABET 

A  is  the  Alphabet,  A  at  its  head ; 

A  is  an  Antelope,  agile  to  run. 
B  is  the  Baker  Boy  bringing  the  bread. 

Or  black  Bear  and  brown  Bear,  both  begging  for 
bun. 

C  is  a  Cornflower  come  with  the  com ; 

C  is  a  Cat  with  a  comical  look. 
D  is  a  dinner  which  Dahlias  adorn ; 

D  is  a  Duchess  who  dines  with  a  Duke. 

E  is  an  elegant  eloquent  Earl ; 

E  is  an  Egg  whence  an  Eaglet  emerges. 
F  is  a  Falcon,  with  feathers  to  furl ; 

F  is  a  Fountain  of  full  foaming  surges. 


r66  AA^  ALPHABET 

G  is  the  Gander,  the  Gosling,  the  Goose; 

G  is  a  Garnet  in  girdle  of  gold. 
H  is  a  Heartsease,  harmonious  of  hues; 

H  is  a  huge  Hammer,  heavy  to  hold. 

I  is  an  Idler  who  idles  on  ice; 

I  am  I  —  who  will  say  I  am  not  I? 
J  is  a  Jacinth,  a  jewel  of  price; 

J  is  a  Jay,  full  of  joy  in  July. 

K  is  a  King,  or  a  Kaiser  still  higher; 

K  is  a  Kitten,  or  quaint  Kangaroo. 
L  is  a  Lute  or  a  lovely-toned  Lyre; 

L  is  a  Lily  all  laden  with  dew. 

M  is  a  Meadow  where  ^Meadowsweet  blows; 

M  is  a  Mountain  made  dim  by  a  mist. 
N  is  a  Nut  —  in  a  nutshell  it  grows  — 

Or  a  Nest  full  of  Nightingales  singing  —  oh  list! 

0  is  an  Opal,  with  only  one  spark; 

0  is  an  Olive,  with  oil  on  its  skin. 
P  is  a  Pony,  a  pet  in  a  park; 

P  is  the  Point  of  a  Pen  or  a  Pin. 

ft  is  a  Quail,  quick-chirping  at  morn; 

ft  is  a  Quince  quite  ripe  and  near  dropping. 
R  is  a  Rose,  rosy  red  on  a  thorn; 

R  is  a  red-breasted  Robin  come  hopping. 


AN  ALPHABET  167 

S  is  a  Snow-storm  that  sweeps  o'er  the  Sea; 

S  is  the  Song  that  the  swift  Swallows  sing. 
T  is  the  Tea-table  set  out  for  tea; 

T  is  a  Tiger  with  terrible  spring. 

TJ,  the  Umbrella,  went  up  in  a  shower; 
Or  Unit  is  useful  with  ten  to  unite. 

V  is  a  Violet  veined  in  the  flower; 

V  is  a  Viper  of  venomous  bite. 

W  stands  for  the  water-bred  Whale; 

Stands  for  the  wonderful  Wax-work  so  gay. 
X,  or  XX,  or  XXX  is  ale. 

Or  Policeman  X,  exercised  day  after  day. 

Y  is  a  yellow  Yacht,  yellow  its  boat; 

Y  is  the  Yucca,  the  Yam,  or  the  Yew. 
Z  is  a  Zebra,  zigzagged  his  coat. 

Or  Zebu,  or  Zoophyte,  seen  at  the  Zoo, 
Circa  1875. 


1 68  IVHO  SHALL  SAV ? 


COR   MIO 


STILL  sometimes  in  my  secret  heart  of  hearts 
I  say  "Cor  mio  "  when  I  remember  you, 

And  thus  I  yield  us  both  one  tender  due 
Welding  one  whole  of  two  divided  parts. 
Ah  Friend,  too  wise  or  unwise  for  such  arts, 

Ah  noble  Friend,  silent  and  strong  and  true, 

Would  you  have  given  me  roses  for  the  rue 
For  which  I  bartered  roses  in  love's  marts? 
So  late  in  autumn  one  forgets  the  spring. 

Forgets  the  summer  with  its  opulence. 
The  callow  birds  that  long  have  found  a  wing, 

The  swallows  that  more  lately  got  them  hence : 
Will  anything  like  spring,  will  anything 

Like  summer,  rouse  one  day  the  slumbering  sense  ? 

Circa  1875. 


WHO   SHALL   SAY? 

TOILED  on,  but  thou 
Wast  weary  of  the  way. 
And  so  we  parted  :  now 
Who  shall  say 
Which  is  happier  —  I  or  thou? 


I 


I 


k 


LIFE  169 


I  am  weary  now 

On  the  solitary  way : 
But  art  thou  rested,  thou? 
Who  shall  say 
Which  of  us  is  calmer  now? 

Still  my  heart's  love,  thou, 

In  thy  secret  way, 
Art  still  remembered  now: 

Who  shall  say  — 
Still  rememberest  thou? 


Circa  1875. 


LIFE 


OH  intolerable  life  which  all  life  long 
Abidest  haunted  by  one  dread  of  death  — 

Is  such  life  life?     When  one  considereth. 
Then  black  seems  almost  white,  and  discord  song. 
Alas  this  solitude  where  swarms  a  throng  1 

Life  slowly  grows,  and  dwindles  breath  by  breath  — 

Slowly  grows  on  us,  and  no  word  it  saith, 
Its  cords  made  long  and  all  its  pillars  strong. 
Life  wanes  apace  —  a  life  that  but  deceives. 

And  works  and  reigns  like  life,  and  yet  is  dead : 
Where  is  the  life  that  dies  not  but  that  lives? 
The  sweet  long  life  immortal,  ever  young, 
The  life  that  wooes  us  with  a  silver  tongue, 

Whither?     Much  said,  and  much  more  left  unsaid. 

Circa  1875. 


I70  MEETIXG 


MEETING  \ 


I  SAID  good-bye  in  hope; 
But,  now  we  meet  again, 
I  have  no  hope  at  all 
Of  anything  but  pain, — 
Our  parting  and  our  meeting 
Alike  in  vain. 

Hope  on  through  all  your  life 
Until  the  end,  dear  friend : 

Live  through  your  noble  life 
Where  joy  and  promise  blend- 

I  too  will  live  my  life 
Until  the  end. 

Long  may  your  vine  entwine; 
Long  may  your  fig-tree  spread, 
Their  paradise  of  shade 
Above  your  cherished  head : 
My  shelter  was  a  gourd, 
And  it  is  dead. 

Yet,  when  out  of  a  grave 
We  are  gathered  home  at  last. 
Then  may  we  o^^ti  life  spilt 
No  good  worth  holding  fast :  — 
Death  had  its  bitterness, 
But  it  is  past. 
Circa  1875. 


HADRIAN'S  DEATH-SONG  171 


LINES 

WHERE  are  the  songs  I  used  to  sing, 
Where  are  the  notes  I  used  to  know? 
I  have  forgotten  everything 

I  used  to  know  so  long  ago. 
Summer  has  followed  after  Spring; 

Now  Autumn  is  so  shrunk  and  sere 
I  scarcely  think  a  sadder  thing 
Can  be  the  Winter  of  my  year. 

Circa  1875. 


HADRIAN'S   DEATH-SONG   TRANSLATED 

SOUL  rudderless,  unbraced, 
The  body's  friend  and  guest, 
Whither  away  to-day? 
Unsuppled,  pale,  diseased. 
Dumb  to  thy  wonted  jest. 
1876. 


172  VALENTINES   TO  MY  MOTHER 

VALENTINES  TO   MY   MOTHER 

1876 

FAIRER  than  younger  beauties,  more  beloved 
Than  many  a  wife, 
By  stress  of  Time's  vicissitudes  unmoved 
From  settled  calm  of  life; 

Endearing  rectitude  to  those  who  watch 

The  verdict  of  your  face, 
Raising  and  making  gracious  those  who  catch 

A  semblance  of  your  grace : 

With  kindly  lips  of  welcome,  and  with  pleased 

Propitious  eyes  benign. 
Accept  a  kiss  of  homage  from  your  least 
Last  Valentine. 


o^ 


1877 

^WN  IMother  dear. 
We  all  rejoicing  here 
Wait  for  each  other. 
Daughter  for  Mother, 
Sister  for  Brother, 
Till  each  dear  face  appear 
Transfigured  by  Love's  flame 
Yet  still  the  same,  — 


K 


VALENTINES   TO  MY  MOTHER  173 

The  same  yet  new, — 

My  face  to  you, 

Your  face  to  me, 
Made  lovelier  by  Love's  flame 

But  still  the  same ; 

Most  dear  to  see 
In  halo  of  Love's  flame, 

Because  the  same. 


1878 

BLESSED  Dear  and  Heart's  Delight, 
Companion,  Friend,  and  Mother  mine, 
Round  whom  my  fears  and  love  entwine,  — 
With  whom  I  hope  to  stand  and  sing 
Where  Angels  form  the  outer  ring 
Round  singing  Saints  who,  clad  in  white, 
Know  no  more  of  day  or  night 

Or  death  or  any  changeful  thing, 
Or  anything  that  is  not  love, 
Human  love  and  Love  Divine, — 
Bid  me  to  that  tryst  above, 
Bless  your  Valentine. 


174  VALENTINES  TO  MY  MOTHER 


1879 


MOTHER  mine, 
Whom  every  year 
Doth  endear,  — 
Before  sweet  Spring 
(That  sweetest  thing 
Brimfull  of  bliss) 
Sets  all  the  throng 
Of  birds  a-wooing. 
Billing  and  cooing, 
Your  Valentine 

Sings  you  a  song. 
Gives  you  a  kiss. 


M' 


1880 

^ORE  shower  than  shine 
Brings  sweet  St.  Valentine; 
Warm  shine,  warm  shower, 
Bring  up  sweet  flower  on  flower. 

Through  shower  and  shine 
Loves  you  your  Valentine, 

Through  shine,  through  shower, 
Through   summer's  flush,   through  autumn's  fading 
hour. 


I 


I 

I 


VALENTINES   TO  MY  MOTHER  175 


TOO  cold  almost  for  hope  of  Spring 
Or  firstfruits  from  the  realm  of  flowers, 
Your  dauntless  Valentine,  I  bring 
One  sprig  of  love,  and  sing 
"Love  has  no  Winter  hours." 

If  even  in  this  world  love  is  love 

(This  wintry  world  which  felt  the  Fall), 
What  must  it  be  in  heaven  above 
Where  love  to  great  and  small 
Is  all  in  all? 


MY  blessed  Mother  dozing  in  her  chair 
On  Christmas  Day  seemed  an  embodied  Love, 
A  comfortable  Love  with  soft  brown  hair 

Softened  and  silvered  to  a  tint  of  dove; 
A  better  sort  of  Venus  with  an  air 

Angelical  from  thoughts  that  dwell  above; 
A  wiser  Pallas  in  whose  body  fair 

Enshrined  a  blessed  soul  looks  out  thereof. 
Winter  brought  holly  then;  now  Spring  has  brought 

Paler  and  frailer  snowdrops  shivering; 
And  I  have  brought  a  simple  humble  thought  — 

I  her  devoted  duteous  Valentine  — 
A  lifelong  thought  which  thrills  this  song  I  sing, 

A  lifelong  love  to  this  dear  Saint  of  mine. 


176  VALENTINES   TO  MY  MOTHER 


1883 

A  WORLD  of  change  and  loss,  a  world  of  death, 
Of  heart  and  eyes  that  fail,  of  labouring  breath. 
Of  pains  to  bear  and  painful  deeds  to  do :  — 
Nevertheless  a  world  of  life  to  come 
And  love;  where  you're  at  home,  while  in  our  home 
Your  Valentine  rejoices,  having  you. 


ANOTHER  year  of  joy  and  grief, 
Another  year  of  hope  and  fear: 
O  ^lother,  is  life  long  or  brief? 
We  hasten  while  we  linger  here. 

But,  since  we  linger,  love  me  still 
And  bless  me  still,  O  Mother  mine. 

While  hand  in  hand  we  scale  life's  hill, 
You  guide,  and  I  your  Valentine. 


ALL  the  Robin  Redbreasts 
Have  lived  the  winter  through, 
Jenny  Wrens  have  pecked  their  fill 
And  found  a  work  to  do; 


i 


VALENTINES   TO  MY  MOTHER  177 

Families  of  Sparrows 

Have  weathered  wind  and  storm 
With  Rabbit  on  the  stony  hill 
And  Hare  upon  her  form. 


You  and  I,  my  Mother, 

Have  lived  the  winter  through, 
And  still  we  play  our  daily  parts 
And  still  find  work  to  do: 
And  still  the  cornfields  flourish, 
The  olive  and  the  vine. 
And  still  you  reign  my  Queen  of  Hearts 
And  I'm  your  Valentine. 


1886 

WINTER'S   latest   snowflake    is  the  snowdrop 
flower, 
Yellow  crocus  kindles  the  first  flame  of  the  Spring, 
At  that  time  appointed,  at  that  day  and  hour, 
When  life  reawakens  and  hope  in  everything. 


Such  a  tender  snowflake  in  the  wintry  w^eather. 

Such  a  feeble  flamelet  for  chilled  St.  Valentine,  — 

But  blest  be  any  weather  which  finds  us  still  together. 
My  pleasure  and  my  treasure,   O  blessed  Mother 
mine. 

N 


178  MY  MOUSE 


MY   MOUSE 


A  VENUS  seems  my  Mouse 
Come  safe  ashore  from  foaming  seas, 
Which  in  a  small  way  and  at  ease 
Keeps  house. 

An  Iris  seems  my  Mouse, 
Bright  bow  of  that  exhausted  shower 
Which  made  a  world  of  sweet  herbs  flower 
And  boughs. 

A  darling  Mouse  it  is :  — 
Part  hope  not  likely  to  take  wing, 
Part  memory,  part  anything 
You  please. 

Venus-cum-Iris  Mouse, 
From  shifting  tides  set  safe  apart, 
In  no  mere  bottle,  in  my  heart 
Keep  house. 

New  Year  1877. 


PARTED  179 


A   POOR   OLD   DOG 

PITY  the  sorrows  of  a  poor  old  dog 
Who  wags  his  tail  a-begging  in  his  need; 
Despise  not  even  the  sorrows  of  a  frog, 

God's  creature  too,  and  that's  enough  to  plead; 
Spare  puss  who  trusts  us  dozing  on  our  hearth; 

Spare  bunny,  once  so  frisky  and  so  free: 
Spare  all  the  harmless  creatures  of  the  earth : 

Spare,   and  be  spared  —  or  who  shall   plead   for 

thee? 
Circa  1879. 


PARTED 

HAD  Fortune  parted  us, 
Fortune  is  blind; 
Had  Anger  parted  us, 

Anger  unkind  — 
But  since  God  parts  us 
Let  us  part  humbly, 
Bearing  our  burden 
Bravely  and  dumbly. 

And  since  there  is  but  one 
Heaven,  not  another, 

Let  us  not  close  that  door 
Against  each  other. 


i8o  TO-DAY'S  BURDEN 

God's  Love  is  higher  than  mine, 
Christ's  tenfold  proved, 

Yet  even  I  would  die 
For  thee,  Beloved. 

Circa  i88o. 


TO-DAV'S   BURDEN 

"     A   RISE,  depart,  for  this  is  not  your  rest." — 
jljL    Oh  burden  of  all  burdens,  still  to  arise 
And  still  depart  nor  rest  in  any  wise ! 

Rolling,  still  rolling  thus  from  East  to  West, 

Earth  journeys  on  her  immemorial  quest, 
Whom  a  moon  chases  in  no  different  guise. 
Thus  stars  pursue  their  courses,  and  thus  files 

The  sun,  and  thus  all  creatures  manifest 

Unrest  the  common  heritage,  the  ban 

Flung  broadcast  to  all  humankind,  on  all 
Who  live  —  for,  living,  all  are  bound  to  die. 

That  which  is  old,  we  know  that  it  is  man. 

These  have  no  rest  who  sit  and  dream  and  sigh. 
Nor  have  those  rest  who  wrestle  and  who  fall. 

Circa  iSSi. 


I 


MICHAEL   F.   M.   ROSSETTF  i8i 

COUNTERBLAST   ON    PENNY   TRUMPET 

IF  Mr.  Bright  retiring  does  not  please, 
And  Mr.  Gladstone  staying  gives  offence, 
What  can  man  do  which  is  not  one  of  these? 

Use  your  own  common  sense. 
Yet  he's  a  brave  man  who  abjures  his  cause 

For  conscience'  sake:  let  byegones  be  byegones: 
Not  this  among  the  makers  of  our  laws 
The  least  and  last  of  Johns. 

If  all  our  byegones  could  be  piled  on  shelves 
High  out  of  reach  of  penny-line  Tyrtseus ! 
If  only  all  of  us  could  see  ourselves 

As  others  see  us  1 
21  July  1882.  i 

MICHAEL  F.    M.    ROSSETTI 

Born  22  April  1881;   Died  24  January  1883. 


A  HOLY  Innocent  gone  home 
Without  so  much  as  one  sharp  wounding  word; 
A  blessed  Michael  in  heaven's  lofty  dome 
Without  a  sword. 


Brief  dawn  and  noon  and  setting  time ! 
Our  rapid-rounding  moon  has  fled; 


1 82  MICHAEL  F.   JL    ROSSETTI 

A  black  eclipse  before  the  prime 

Has  swallowed  up  that  shining  head. 
Eternity  holds  up  her  looking-glass :  — 
The  eclipse  of  Time  w'ill  pass, 
And  all  that  lovely  light  return  to  sight. 

3 

I  watch  the  showers  and  think  of  flowers : 
Alas  my  flower  that  shows  no  fruit ! 
My  snowdrop  plucked,  my  daisy  shoot 
Plucked  from  the  root. 
Soon  Spring  will  shower,  the  world  will  flower, 
A  \yorld  of  buds  will  promise  fruit, 
Pear-trees  wall  shoot  and  apples  shoot 
Sound  at  the  root. 
Bud  of  an  hour,  far  off  you  flower; 
My  bud,  far  off  you  ripen  fruit; 
My  prettiest  bud,  my  straightest  shoot, 
Sweet  at  the  root. 

4 

The  youngest  bud  of  five, 
The  least  lamb  of  the  fold. 
Bud  not  to  blossom,  yet  to  thrive 
Aw^ay  from  cold : 
Lamb  which  we  shall  not  see 
Leap  at  its  pretty  pranks. 
Our  lamb  at  rest  and  full  of  glee 
On  heavenly  banks. 

January  1883. 


TO  MY  FIOR-DI-LISA  183 


THE   WAY   OF   THE   WORLD 

A  BOAT  that  sails  upon  the  sea, 
Sails  far  and  far  and  far  away : 
Who  sail  in  her  sing  songs  of  glee, 
Or  watch  and  pray. 

A  boat  that  drifts  upon  the  sea, 

Silent  and  void  to  sun  and  air: 
Who  sailed  in  her  have  ended  glee 
And  watch  and  prayer. 
Circa  1890. 


TO   MY   FIOR-DI-LISA 

THE  Rose  is  Love's  own  flower,  and  Love's  no  less 
The  Lily's  tenderness. 
Then  half  their  dignity  must  Roses  yield 

To  Lilies  of  the  field? 
Nay,  diverse  notes  make  up  true  harmony. 

All-fashioned  loves  agree : 
Love  w^ears  the  Lily's  whiteness,  and  Love  glows 

In  the  deep-hearted  Rose. 
1892. 


SLEEPING   AT  LAST 


SLEEPING    AT    LAST 


SLEEPING  at  last,  the  trouble  and  tumult  over, 
Sleeping  at  last,  the  struggle  and  horror  past, 
Cold  and  white,  out  of  sight  of  friend  and  of  lover, 
Sleeping  at  last. 

No  more  a  tired  heart  downcast  or  overcast. 
No  more  pangs  that  wring  or  shifting  fears  that  hover, 
Sleeping  at  last  in  a  dreamless  sleep  locked  fast. 

Fast  asleep.     Singing  birds  in  their  leafy  cover 

Cannot  wake  her,  nor  shake  her  the  gusty  blast. 
Under  the  purple  thyme  and  the  purple  clover 
Sleeping  at  last.^ 

Circa  1 893. 


DEVOTIONAL     POEMS 


I 


I   DO   SET   MY   BOW   IN   THE   CLOUD 

THE  roses  bloom  too  late  for  me : 
The  violets  I  shall  not  see : 
Even  the  snowdrops  will  not  come 
Till  I  have  passed  from  home  to  home : 
From  home  on  earth  to  home  in  heaven, 
Here  penitent  and  there  forgiven. 

Mourn  not,  my  Father,  that  I  seek 
One  who  is  strong  when  I  am  weak. 
Through  the  dark  passage,  verily. 
His  rod  and  staff  shall  comfort  me : 
He  shall  support  me  in  the  strife 
Of  death  that  dieth  into  life : 
He  shall  support  me,  He  receive 
My  soul  when  I  begin  to  live, 
And  more  than  I  can  ask  for  give. 

He  from  the  heaven-gates  built  above 
Hath  looked  on  me  in  perfect  love. 
From  the  heaven-walls  to  me  He  calls 
To  come  and  dwell  within  those  walls : 


i88     /  DO   SET  MY  BOW  IN  THE   CLOUD 

With  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 
And  Angels :  yea,  beholding  Him. 


His  care  for  me  is  more  than  mine, 
Father;  His  love  is  more  than  thine. 
Sickness  and  death  I  have  from  thee, 
From  Him  have  immortality. 
He  giveth  gladness  where  He  will, 
Yet  chasteneth  His  beloved  still. 

Then  tell  me :  is  it  not  enough 

To  feel  that,  when  the  path  is  rough 

And  the  sky  dark  and  the  rain  cold; 

His  promise  standeth  as  of  old? 

When  heaven  and  earth  have  past  away 

Only  His  righteous  word  shall  stay, 

And  we  shall  know  His  will  is  best. 

Behold  :    He  is  a  haven-rest, 

A  sheltering  rock,  a  hiding-place, 

For  runners  steadfast  in  the  race ; 

Who,  toiling  for  a  little  space, 

Had  light  through  faith  when  sight  grew  dim. 

And  offered  all  their  world  to  Him. 

Decej?2ber  1847. 


DEATH  IS  SWALLOWED  UP  LV  VICTOI^Y  189 


DEATH   IS  SWALLOWED   UP   IN   VICTORY 

"  'nr^ELL  me :  doth  it  not  grieve  thee  to  lie  here, 
jL       And  see  the  cornfields  waving  not  for  thee, 
Just  in  the  waking  summer  of  the  year?  " 

"  I  fade  from  earth,  and  lo  along  w4th  me 
The  season  that  I  love  will  fade  away: 

How  should  I  look  for  autumn  longingly?  '* 
'^Yet  autumn  beareth  fruit  whilst  day  by  day 

The  leaves  grow  browner  with  a  mellow  hue, 
Declining  to  a  beautiful  decay." 

^^  Decay  is  death,  with  w^hich  I  have  to  do, 
And  see  it  near:  behold,  it  is  more  good 

Than  length  of  days  and  length  of  sorrow  too/* 
"But  thy  heart  hath  not  dwelt  in  solitude; 

Many  have  loved  and  love  thee :  dost  not  heed 
Free  love,  for  which  in  vain  have  others  sued?  " 

"I  thirst  for  love,  love  is  mine  only  need. 
Love  such  as  none  hath  borne  me  nor  can  bear, 

True  love  that  prompteth  thought  and  word  and 
deed." 
"Here  it  is  not:  why  seek  it  otherwhere? 

Nay,  bow  thy  head,  and  own  that  on  this  earth 
Are  many  goodly  things  and  sweet  and  fair." 

"There  are  tears  in  man's  laughter:  in  his  mirth 
There  is  a  fearful  forward  look;  and  lo 

An  infant's  cry  gives  token  of  its  birth." 


IQO  DEATH  IS  SWALLOWED    UP 

"I  mark  the  ocean  of  Time  ebb  and  flow: 

He  who  hath  care  one  day  and  is  perplext 
To-morrow  may  have  joy  in  place  of  woe." 

"  Evil  becomes  good :  and  to  this  annext 
Good  becomes  evil :  speak  of  it  no  more : 

My  heart  is  wearied  and  my  spirit  vext." 
"Is  there  no  place  it  grieves  thee  to  give  o'er? 

Is  there  no  home  thou  lov'st,  and  so  wouldst  fain 
Tarry  a  little  longer  at  the  door?  " 

"  I  must  go  hence  and  not  return  again : 
But  the  friends  whom  I  have  shall  come  to  me, 

And  dwell  together  with  me  safe  from  pain." 
"Where  is  that  mansion  mortals  cannot  see? 

Behold,  the  tombs  are  full  of  worms :  shalt  thou 
Rise  thence  and  soar  up  skywards  gloriously?  " 

"  Even  as  the  planets  shine  we  know  not  how, 
We  shall  be  raised  then,  changed  yet  still  the  same  — 

Being  made  like  Christ,  yea  being  as  He  is  now." 
"Thither  thou  go'st  whence  no  man  ever  came: 

Death's  voyagers  return  not,  and  in  death 
There  is  no  room  for  speech  or  sign  or  fame." 

"There  is  room  for  repose  that  comforteth; 
There  weariness  is  not:  and  there  content 

Broodeth  for  ever,  and  hope  hovereth." 
"  When  the  stars  fall  and  when  the  graves  are  rent, 

Shalt  thou  have  safety?  shalt  thou  look  for  life 
When  the  great  light  of  the  broad  sun  is  spent?  " 

"These  elements  shall  consummate  their  strife. 
This  heaven  and  earth  shall  shrivel  like  a  scroll. 

And  then  be  re-created,  beauty-rife." 


1 


IN  VICTORY  191 

"Who  shall  abide  it  when  from  pole  to  pole 

The  world's  foundations  shall  be  overthrown? 
Who  shall  abide  to  scan  the  perfect  whole?" 

"  He  who  hath  strength  given  to  him,  not  his  own : 
He  who  hath  faith  in  that  which  is  not  seen, 

And  patient  hope:  who  trusts  in  Love  alone." 
"  Vet  thou  —  the  death-struggle  must  intervene 

Ere  thou  w^in  rest :  think  better  of  it :  think 
Of  all  that  is  and  shall  be  and  hath  been." 

"The  cup  my  Father  giveth  me  to  drink, 
Shall  I  not  take  it  meekly?  though  my  heart 

Tremble  a  moment,  it  shall  never  shrink." 
"  Satan  will  wTCstle  with  thee  w^hen  thou  art 

In  the  last  agony;  and  Death  w411  bring 
Sins  to  remembrance  ere  thy  spirit  part." 

"  In  that  great  hour  of  unknow^n  suffering 
God  shall  be  wath  me,  and  His  arm  made  bare 

Shall  fight  for  me :  yea,  underneath  His  wang, 
I  shall  lie  safe  at  rest  and  freed  from  care." 

20  February  1848. 


192  A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

THANK  God,  thank  God,  we  do  believe: 
Thank  God  that  this  is  Christmas  Eve. 
Even  as  we  kneel  upon  this  day, 
Even  so,  the  ancient  legends  say, 
Nearly  two  thousand  years  ago 
The  stalled  ox  knelt,  and  even  so 
The  ass  knelt  full  of  praise,  which  they 
Could  not  express,  while  we  can  pray. 
Thank  God,  thank  God,  for  Christ  was  born 
Ages  ago,  as  on  this  morn. 
In  the  snow-season  undefiled 
God  came  to  earth  a  little  child: 
He  put  His  ancient  glory  by 
To  live  for  us  and  then  to  die. 

How  shall  we  thank  God  ?     How  shall  we 
Thank  Him  and  praise  Him  worthily? 
What  will  He  have  who  loved  us  thus? 
What  presents  will  He  take  from  us? 
Will  He  take  gold,  or  precious  heap 
Of  gems?  or  shall  we  rather  steep 
The  air  with  incense,  or  bring  myrrh? 
What  man  will  be  our  messenger 
To  go  to  Him  and  ask  His  will? 
^\  hich  having  learned,  we  will  fulfil 
Though  He  choose  all  we  most  prefer :  — 
What  man  will  be  our  messenger? 


FOR   ADVEXT  193 

Thank  God,  thank  God,  the  Man  is  found, 

Sure-footed,  knowing  well  the  ground. 

He  knows  the  road,  for  this  the  way 

He  travelled  once,  as  on  this  day. 

He  is  our  Messenger  beside. 

He  is  our  door  and  path  and  Guide : 

He  also  is  our  Offering : 

He  is  the  gift  that  we  must  bring. 

Let  us  kneel  down  with  one  accord 

And  render  thanks  unto  the  Lord : 

For  unto  us  a  Child  is  born 

Upon  this  happy  Christmas  morn; 

For  unto  us  a  Son  is  given. 

Firstborn  of  God  and  Heir  of  Heaven. 

7  March  1849. 


FOR   ADVENT 

SWEET  sweet  sound  of  distant  waters,  falling 
On  a  parched  and  thirsty  plain : 
Sweet  sweet  song  of  soaring  skylark,  calling 

On  the  sun  to  shine  again : 
Perfume  of  the  rose,  only  the  fresher 

For  past  fertilizing  rain: 
Pearls  amid  the  sea,  a  hidden  treasure 

For  some  daring  hand  to  gain :  — 

Better,  dearer  than  all  these 

Is  the  earth  beneath  the  trees ; 


194  FOR   ADVENT 

Of  a  much  more  priceless  worth 
Is  the  old  brown  common  earth. 

Little  snow-white  lamb,  piteously  bleating 

For  thy  mother  far  away : 
Saddest  sweetest  nightingale,  retreating 

With  thy  sorrow  from  the  day : 
Weary  fawn  whom  night  has  overtaken, 

From  the  herd  gone  quite  astray : 
Dove  whose  nest  was  rifled  and  forsaken 

In  the  budding  month  of  May :  — 

Roost  upon  the  leafy  trees, 

Lie  on  earth  and  take  your  ease : 

Death  is  better  far  than  birth : 

You  shall  turn  again  to  earth. 

Listen  to  the  never-pausing  murmur 
Of  the  waves  that  fret  the  shore : 

See  the  ancient  pine  that  stands  the  firmer 
For  the  storm-shock  that  it  bore : 

And  the  moon  her  silver  chalice  filling 
With  light  from  the  great  sun's  store: 

And  the  stars  which  deck  our  temple's  ceiling 
As  the  flowers  deck  its  floor : 
Look  and  hearken  while  you  may, 
For  these  things  shall  pass  away : 
All  these  things  shall  fail  and  cease : 
Let  us  wait  the  end  in  peace. 

Let  us  wait  the  end  in  peace,  for  truly 
That  shall  cease  which  was  before : 


TWO  PURSUITS  195 

Let  us  see  our  lamps  are  lighted,  duly 

Fed  with  oil  nor  wanting  more : 
Let  us  pray  while  yet  the  Lord  will  hear  us, 

For  the  time  is  almost  o'er: 
Yea,  the  end  of  all  is  very  near  us : 

Yea,  the  Judge  is  at  the  door. 

Let  us  pray  now,  while  we  may: 

It  will  be  too  late  to  pray 

When  the  quick  and  dead  shall  all 

Rise  at  the  last  trumpet-call. 

12  March  1849. 


TWO   PURSUITS 

A  VOICE  said  ''  Follow,  follow  "  :  and  I  rose 
And  followed  far  into  the  dreamy  night. 
Turning  my  back  upon  the  pleasant  light. 
It  led  me  where  the  bluest  water  flows, 
And  would  not  let  me  drink :  where  the  corn  grows 
I  dared  not  pause,  but  went  uncheered  by  sight 
Or  touch :  until  at  length  in  evil  plight 
It  left  me,  wearied  out  with  many  woes. 
Some  time  I  sat  as  one  bereft  of  sense : 
But  soon  another  voice  from  very  far 

Called,  '^  Follow,  follow  "  :  and  I  rose  again. 
Now  on  my  night  has  dawned  a  blessed  star : 
Kind  steady  hands  my  sinking  steps  sustain. 
And  will  not  leave  me  till  I  shall  go  hence. 
12  April  1849. 


196 


THE   WATCHERS 


s 


THE   WATCHERS 

HE  fell  asleep  among  the  flowers 
In  the  sober  autumn  hours. 


Three  there  are  about  her  bed, 
At  her  side  and  feet  and  head. 

At  her  head  standeth  the  Cross 
For  which  all  else  she  counted  loss : 

Still  and  steadfast  at  her  feet 
Doth  her  Guardian  Angel  sit: 

Prayers  of  truest  love  abide 
Wrapping  her  on  every  side. 

The  holy  Cross  standeth  alone, 
Beneath  the  white  moon,  whitest  stone. 

Evil  spirits  come  not  near 

Its  shadow,  shielding  from  all  fear: 

Once  she  bore  it  in  her  breast, 
Now  it  certifies  her  rest. 

Humble  violets  grow  around 

Its  base,  sweetening  the  grassy  ground, 

Leaf-hidden :  so  she  hid  from  praise 
Of  men  her  pious  holy  ways. 


THE    WATCHERS 

Higher  about  it,  twining  close, 
Clingeth  a  crimson  thorny  rose : 

So  from  her  heart's  good  seed  of  love 
Thorns  sprang  below,  flowers  spring  above. 

Though  yet  his  vigil  doth  not  cease, 
Her  Angel  sits  in  perfect  peace, 

With  white  folded  wings :  for  she 
He  watches  now  is  pure  as  he. 

He  watches  with  his  loving  eyes 
For  the  day  when  she  shall  rise : 

When  full  of  glory  and  of  grace 
She  shall  behold  him  face  to  face. 

Though  she  is  safe  for  ever,  yet 
Human  love  doth  not  forget : 

But  prays  that  in  her  deep 

Grave  she  may  sleep  a  blessed  sleep, 

Till  when  time  and  the  world  are  past 
She  may  find  mercy  at  the  last. 

So  these  three  do  hedge  her  in 
From  sorrow,  as  death  does  from  sin. 

So  freed  from  earthly  taint  and  pain 
May  they  all  meet  in  heaven.     Amen. 
25  May  1850. 


197 


19S     /  STAXD   AT  THE  DOOR   AXD  KXOCK 


BEHOLD,    I    STAXD   AT   THE    DOOR 
AND   KNOCK 

W'HO  standeth  at  the  gate?  —  A  woman  old, 
A  widow  from  the  husband  of  her  love. 
••  Oh  lady,  stay,  this  wind  is  piercing  cold, 
Oh  look  at  the  keen  frosty  moon  above; 
I  have  no  home,  am  hungry,  feeble,  poor."  — 
"I'm  really  very  sorry,  but  I  can 
Do  nothing  for  you:  there's  the  clergyman," 
The  lady  said,  and  shivering  closed  the  door. 

Who  standeth  at  the  gate  ?  —  Wapvorn  and  pale 

A  grey-haired  man  asks  charity  again. 
"Kind  lady,  I  have  journeyed  far,  and  fail 

Through  weariness:  for  I  have  begged  in  vain 
Some  shelter,  and  can  find  no  lodging-place." 

She  answered:   ''There's  the  workhouse  very  near; 

Go,  for  they'll  certainly  receive  you  there"  — 
Then  shut  the  door  against  his  pleading  face. 

Who  standeth  at  the  gate?  —  A  stunted  child, 

Her  sunk  eyes  sharpened  with  precocious  care. 
"  Oh  lady,  save  me  from  a  home  defiled. 

From  shameful  sights  and  sounds  that  taint  the  air : 
Take  pity  on  me,  teach  me  something  good."  — 

"For  shame,  why  don't  you  work  instead  of  cr}^? 

I  keep  no  young  impostors  here,  not  L" 
She  slammed  the  door,  indignant  where  she  stood. 


ADVENT 

U'ho  standeth  at  the  gate,  and  will  be  heard? 

Arise,  O  woman,  from  thy  comforts  now : 
Go  forth  again  to  speak  the  careless  word, 

The  cruel  word  unjust,  wuth  hardened  brow. 
But  who  is  this,  that  standeth  not  to  pray 

As  once,  but  terrible  to  judge  thy  sin? 

This  whom  thou  wouldst  not  succour  nor  take  in 
Nor  teach  but  leave  to  perish  by  the  way. 

"Thou  didst  it  not  unto  the  least  of  these, 
And  in  them  hast  not  done  it  unto  ]Me. 

Thou  wast  as  a  princess  rich  and  at  ease  — 
Now  sit  in  dust  and  howl  for  poverty. 

Three  times  I  stood  beseeching  at  thy  gate. 
Three  times  I  came  to  bless  thy  soul  and  save : 
But  now  I  come  to  judge  for  what  I  gave, 

And  now  at  length  thy  sorrow  is  too  late." 
I  December  1851. 

ADVENT 

COME,"  Thou  dost  say  to  Angels, 
To  blessed  Spirits,  "Come  "  : 
"Come,"  to  the  lambs  of  Thine  own  flock, 
Thy  little  ones,  "Come  home." 

"Come,"  from  the  many-mansioned  house 

The  gracious  word  is  sent, 
"Come,"  from  the  \\orj  palaces 

Unto  the  Penitent. 


199 


)o  ALL   SALVTS 

O  Lord,  restore  us  deaf  and  blind, 
Unclose  our  lips  though  dumb : 

Then  say  to  us,  '^ I  come  with  speed," 
And  we  will  answer,  "Come." 

12  December  1 85 1. 


ALL   SAINTS 

THEY  have  brought  gold  and  spices  to  my  King, 
Incense  a*id  precious  stuffs  and  ivory : 
O  holy  Mother  mine,  what  can  I  bring 

That  so  my  Lord  may  deign  to  look  on  me? 
They  sing  a  sweeter  song  than  I  can  sing, 

All  crowned  and  glorified  exceedingly : 
I,  bound  on  earth,  weep  for  my  trespassing,  — 

They  sing  the  song  of  love  in  heaven,  set  free. 
Then  answered  me  my  Mother,  and  her  voice 

Spake  to  my  heart,  yea  answered  in  my  heart : 
*'Sing,  saith  He  to  the  heavens,  to  earth  rejoice: 
Thou  also  lift  thy  heart  to  Him  above : 

He  seeks  not  thine,  but  thee  such  as  thou  art, 
For  lo  His  banner  over  thee  is  Love." 

20  /a 71  ziary  1 852. 


EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN  201 


EYE   HATH   NOT   SEEN 

OUR  feet  shall  tread  upon  the  stars 
Less  bright  than  we. 
The  everlasting  shore  shall  bound 
A  fairer  sea 
Than  that  which  cold 
Now  glitters  in  the  sun  like  gold. 

Oh  good,  oh  blest !  but  who  shall  say 

How  fair,  how  fair, 
Is  the  light-region  where  no  cloud 

Darkens  the  air. 

Where  weary  eyes 
Rest  on  the  green  of  Paradise  ? 

There  cometh  not  the  wind  nor  rain 

Nor  sun  nor  snow : 
The  Trees  of  Knowledge  and  of  Life 

Bud  there  and  blow, 

Their  leaves  and  fruit 
Fed  from  an  undecaying  root. 

There  Angels  flying  to  and  fro 

Are  not  more  white 
Than  Penitents  some  while  ago, 

Now  Saints  in  light: 

Once  soiled  and  sad  — 
Cleansed  now  and  crowned,  fulfilled  and  glad. 


202  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN 

Now  yearning  through  the  perfect  rest 

Perhaps  they  gaze 
Earthwards  upon  their  best-beloved 

In  all  earth's  ways: 

Longing,  but  not 
With  pain,  as  used  to  be  their  lot. 

The  hush  of  that  beatitude 

Is  ages  long. 
Sufficing  Virgins,  Prophets,  Saints, 

Till  the  new  song 

Shall  be  sent  up 
From  lips  which  drained  the  bitter  cup. 

If  but  the  thought  of  Paradise 

Gives  joy  on  earth, 
What  shall  it  be  to  enter  there 

Through  second  birth? 

To  find  once  more 
Our  dearest  treasure  gone  before  ? 

To  find  the  Shepherd  of  the  sheep, 

The  Lamb  once  slain, 
Who  leads  His  own  by  living  streams  — 

Never  again 

To  thirst,  or  need 
Aught  in  green  pastures  where  they  feed. 

But  from  the  altar  comes  a  cry 
Awful  and  strong 


EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN  203 

From  martyred  Saints:   ^^How  long,"  they  say, 

"  O  Lord,  how  long, 

Holy  and  True, 
Shall  vengeance  for  our  blood  be  due?  " 

Then  the  Lord  gives  them  robes  of  white. 

And  bids  them  stay 
In  patience  till  the  time  be  full 

For  the  last  day  — 

The  day  of  dread 
When  the  last  sentence  shall  be  said; 

When  heaven  and  earth  shall  flee  away, 

And  the  great  deep 
Shall  render  up  her  dead,  and  earth 

Her  sons  that  sleep. 

And  day  of  grace 
Be  hid  for  ever  from  Thy  face. 

Oh  hide  us  till  Thy  wrath  be  past, 

Our  grief,  our  shame. 
With  Peter  and  with  Magdalene 

And  him  whose  name 

No  record  tells 
Who  by  Thy  promise  with  Thee  dwells. 

I  May  1852. 


204  MOONSHINE 


ST.    ELIZABETH   OF   HUNGARY 

WHEN  if  ever  life  is  sweet, 
Save  in  heart  in  all  a  child, 
A  fair  virgin  undefiled, 

Knelt  she  at  her  Saviour's  feet: 
While  she  laid  her  royal  crown, 
Thinking  it  too  mean  a  thing 
For  a  solemn  offering. 
Careless  on  the  cushions  down. 

Fair  she  was  as  any  rose, 

But  more  pale  than  lilies  white : 
Her  eyes  full  of  deep  repose 

Seemed  to  see  beyond  our  sight. 
Hush,  she  is  a  holy  thing : 

Hush,  her  soul  is  in  her  eyes, 

Seeking  far  in  Paradise 
For  her  Light,  her  Love,  her  King. 

i6/une  1852. 


MOONSHINE 

FAIR  the  sun  riseth. 
Bright  as  bright  can  be, 
Fair  the  sun  shineth 
On  a  fair  fair  sea. 


MOONSHINE  205 

"  Across  the  water 
Wilt  thou  come  with  me, 
Miles  and  long  miles,  love, 
Over  the  salt  sea?  " 

"  If  thou  wilt  hold  me 
Truly  by  the  hand, 
I  will  go  with  thee 
Over  sea  and  sand. 

"  If  thou  wilt  hold  me 
That  I  shall  not  fall, 
I  will  go  with  thee, 
Love,  in  spite  of  all.'* 

Fair  the  moon  riseth 
On  her  heavenly  way, 
Making  the  waters 
Fairer  than  by  day. 

A  little  vessel 
Rocks  upon  the  sea, 

Where  stands  a  maiden 
Fair  as  fair  can  be. 

Her  smile  rejoices 
Though  her  mouth  is  mute : 

She  treads  the  vessel 
With  her  little  foot. 


2o6  MOONSHINE 

Truly  he  holds  her 
Faithful  to  his  pledge, 

Guiding  the  vessel 
From  the  water's  edge« 

Fair  the  moon  saileth 
With  her  pale  fair  light, 

Fair  the  girl  gazeth 
Out  into  the  night. 

Saith  she,  "  Like  silver 
Shines  thy  hair,  not  gold  ** : 

Saith  she,  "  I  shiver 
In  thy  steady  hold. 

"Love,"  she  saith  weeping, 
"Loose  thy  hold  awhile; 

My  heart  is  freezing 
In  thy  freezing  smile." 

The  moon  is  hidden 
By  a  silver  cloud. 

Fair  as  a  halo 
Or  a  maiden's  shroud. 

No  more  beseeching, 
Ever  on  they  go : 

The  vessel  rocketh 
Softly  to  and  fro : 


/  LOOK  FOR    THE  LORD  207 

And  still  he  holds  her 
That  she  shall  not  fall, 

Till  pale  mists  whiten 
Dimly  over  all. 

Onward  and  onward, 
Far  across  the  sea : 

Onward  and  onward, 
Pale  as  pale  can  be : 

Onward  and  onward, 
Ever  hand  in  hand, 

From  sun  and  moonlight 
To  another  land. 


16  June  1852. 


I   LOOK   FOR   THE    LORD 

OUR  wealth  has  wasted  all  away, 
Our  pleasures  have  found  wings; 
The  night  is  long  until  the  day; 
Lord,  give  us  better  things  — 
A  ray  of  light  in  thirsty  night 
And  secret  water-springs. 

Our  love  is  dead,  or  sleeps,  or  else 
Is  hidden  from  our  eyes : 


2o8  THE  HEART 

Our  silent  love,  while  no  man  tells 

Or  if  it  lives  or  dies. 
Oh  give  us  love,  O  Lord,  above 

In  changeless  Paradise. 

Our  house  is  left  us  desolate, 
Even  as  Thy  word  hath  said. 

Before  our  face  the  way  is  great; 
Around  us  are  the  dead. 

Oh  guide  us,  save  us  from  the  grave, 
As  Thou  Thy  saints  hast  led. 

Lead  us  where  pleasures  evermore 
And  wealth  indeed  are  placed, 

And  home  on  an  eternal  shore. 
And  love  that  cannot  waste : 

Where  joy  Thou  art  unto  the  heart. 
And  sweetness  to  the  taste. 

28  Septe7nber  1852. 


THE    HEART   KNOWETH   ITS   OWN 
BITTERNESS 

WEEP  yet  awhile,  — 
Weep  till  that  day  shall  dawn  when 
thou  shalt  smile : 
Watch  till  the  day 
When  all  save  only  love  shall  pass  away. 


KNOWETH  ITS   OWN  BITTERNESS      209 

Weep,  sick  and  lonely, 
Bow  thy  heart  to  tears. 
For  none  shall  guess  the  secret 
Of  thy  griefs  and  fears. 
Weep,  till  the  day  dawn, 

Refreshing  dew : 

Weep  till  the  spring: 

For  genial  showers 

Bring  up  the  flowers, 

And  thou  shalt  sing 
In  summertime  of  blossoming. 

Heart-sick  and  silent. 
Weep  and  watch  in  pain. 

Weep  for  hope  perished. 
Not  to  live  again : 
Weep  for  love's  hope  and  fear 

And  passion  vain. 

Watch  till  the  day 
When  all  save  only  love  shall  pass  away. 

Then  love  rejoicing 
Shall  forget  to  weep  : 
Shall  hope  or  fear  no  more, 

Or  watch,  or  sleep. 
But  only  love  and  cease  not. 

Deep  beyond  deep. 
Now  we  sow  love  in  tears. 

But  then  shall  reap, 
p 


2IO  IVHITSUX  EVE 

Have  patience  as  the  Lord's  own  flock  of  sheep: 

Have  patience  with  His  love 
Who  died  below,  w^ho  lives  for  thee  above. 
23  December  1852. 


WHITSUN    EVE 

THE  white  dove  cooeth  in  her  downy  nest, 
Keeping  her  young  ones  warm  beneath  her 
breast : 
The  white  moon  saileth  through  the  cool  clear  sky, 
Screened  by  a  tender  mist  in  passing  by: 
The  white  rose  buds,  with  thorns  upon  its  stem, 
All  the  more  precious  and  more  dear  for  them : 
The  stream  shines  silver  in  the  tufted  grass. 
The  white  clouds  scarcely  dim  it  as  they  pass; 
Deep  in  the  valleys  lily  cups  are  white. 
They  send  up  incense  all  the  holy  night : 
Our  souls  are  white,  made  clean  in  Blood  once  shed : 
White  blessed  Angels  watch  around  our  bed :  — 
O  spotless  Lamb  of  God,  still  keep  us  so, 
Thou  who  w^ert  born  for  us  in  time  of  snow. 

\Z  May  1853. 


THERE  REMAINETH  A   REST  211 

THERE   REMAINETH   THEREFORE   A 
REST   FOR   THE   PEOPLE   OF   GOD 

I 

Ye  have  forgotten  the  exhortation 

COME,  blessed  sleep,  most  full,  most  perfect,  come  : 
Come,  sleep,  if  so  I  may  forget  the  whole; 
Forget  my  body  and  forget  my  soul, 

Forget  how  long  life  is  and  troublesome. 

Come,  happy  sleep,  to  soothe  my  heart  or  numb. 
Arrest  my  wxary  spirit  or  control : 
Till  light  be  dark  to  me  from  pole  to  pole, 

And  winds  and  echoes  and  low  songs  be  dumb. 

Come,  sleep,  and  lap  me  into  perfect  calm, 
Lap  me  from  all  the  world  and  weariness : 

Come,  secret  sleep,  with  thine  unuttered  psalm. 
Safe  sheltering  in  a  hidden  cool  recess : 
Come,  hea\y  dreamless  sleep,  and  close  and  press 

Upon  mine  eyes  thy  fingers  dropping  balm. 

n 

Which  speaketh  unto  you  as  unto  children 


A 


RT  thou  so  weary  then,  poor  thirsty  soul? 

Have  patience,  in  due  season  thou  shalt  sleep. 
Mount  yet  a  little  while,  the  path  is  steep: 


212  A   HARVEST 

Strain  yet  a  little  while  to  reach  the  goal : 
Do  battle  with  thyself,  achieve,  control : 

Till  night  come  down  with  blessed  slumber  deep 

As  love,  and  seal  thine  eyes  no  more  to  weep 
Through  long  tired  vigils  while  the  planets  roll. 
Have  patience,  for  thou  too  shalt  sleep  at  length, 

Lapt  in  the  pleasant  shade  of  Paradise. 

My  Hands  that  bled  for  thee  shall  close  thine  eyes, 

My  Heart  that  bled  for  thee  shall  be  thy  rest : 
I  will  sustain  with  everlasting  strength. 

And  thou,  with  John,  shalt  lie  upon  My  breast. 

\2july  1853. 


A   HARVEST 

OGATE  of  death,  of  the  blessed  night, 
That  shall  open  not  again 
On  this  world  of  shame  and  sorrow, 
Where  slow  ages  wax  and  wane. 
Where  are  signs  and  seasons,  days  and  nights, 
And  mighty  winds  and  rain. 

Is  the  day  wearing  toward  the  west?  — 

Far  off  cool  shadows  pass, 

A  visible  refreshment 

Across  the  sultry  grass : 
Far  off  low  mists  are  mustering, 

A  broken  shifting  mass. 


A   HARVEST  213 

Still  in  the  deepest  knowledge 

Some  depth  is  left  unknown : 
Still  in  the  merriest  music  lurks 

A  plaintive  undertone : 
Still  with  the  closest  friend  some  throb 

Of  life  is  felt  alone. 


Time's  summer  breath  is  sweet,  his  sands 

Ebb  sparkling  as  they  flow, 
Yet  some  are  sick  that  this  should  end 

Which  is  from  long  ago :  — 
Are  not  the  fields  already  white 

To  harvest  in  the  glow?  — 

There  shall  come  another  harvest 
Than  was  in  days  of  yore : 
The  reapers  shall  be  Angels, 
Our  God  shall  purge  the  floor :  — 
No  more  seed-time,  no  more  harvest, 
Then  for  evermore. 
I  August  1853. 


214  THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR 


THE   ELEVENTH   HOUR 

FAINT  and  worn  and  aged 
One  stands  knocking  at  a  gate; 
Though  no  light  shines  in  the  casement, 
Knocking  though  so  late. 
It  has  struck  eleven 
In  the  courts  of  heaven, 
Yet  he  still  doth  knock  and  wait. 

While  no  answer  cometh 
From  the  heavenly  hill, 
Blessed  Angels  wonder 
At  his  earnest  will. 
Hope  and  fear  but  quicken 
While  the  shadows  thicken: 
He  is  knocking,  knocking  still. 

Grim  the  gate  unopened 

Stands  with  bar  and  lock : 
Yet  within  the  unseen  Porter 

Hearkens  to  the  knock. — 

Doing  and  undoing, 

Faint  and  yet  pursuing, 
This  man's  feet  are  on  the  Rock. 

With  a  cry  unceasing 
Knocketh,  prayeth  he : 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  215 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  me 
When  I  cry  to  Thee." 
With  a  knock  unceasing 
.  And  a  cry  increasing : 
"O  my  Lord,  remember  me." 

Still  the  Porter  standeth, 
Love-constrained  He  standeth  near^ 

While  the  cry  increaseth 

Of  that  love  and  fear : 

"Jesus,  look  upon  me  — 

Christ,  hast  Thou  foregone  me  ?  — 
If  I  must,  I  perish  here." 

Faint  the  knocking  ceases, 

Faint  the  cry  and  call : 
Is  he  lost  indeed  for  ever. 

Shut  without  the  wall  ? 

Mighty  Arms  surround  him, 

Arms  that  sought  and  found  him. 
Held,  withheld,  and  bore  through  all. 

O  celestial  mansion. 
Open  wide  the  door : 
Crown  and  robes  of  whiteness, 
Stone  inscribed  before, 
Flocking  Angels  bear  them; 
Stretch  thy  hand  and  wear  them. 
Sit  thou  down  for  evermore. 

5  Septei7iher  1853. 


\ 


2i6     WHO  HAVE  A   FORM  OF  GODL/XESS 


FOR  UNDER   A   CRUCIFIX 

ONCE  I  ached  for  thy  dear  sake; 
Wilt  thou  cause  Me  now  to  ache? 
Once  I  bled  for  thee  in  pain; 
Wilt  thou  pierce  My  Heart  again? 

Crown  of  thorns  and  shameful  tree, 
Bitter  death  I  bore  for  thee, 
Gave  up  glory,  broke  My  will,  — 
And  canst  thou  reject  Me  still? 

WHO   HAVE   A   FORM   OF   GODLINESS 

WHEN  I  am  sick  and  tired  it  is  God^s  will*: 
Also  God's  will  alone  is  sure  and  best:  — 
So  in  my  weariness  I  find  my  rest, 
And  so  in  poverty  I  take  my  fill. 
Therefore  I  see  my  good  in  midst  of  ill, 
Therefore  in  loneliness  I  build  my  nest. 
And  through  hot  noon  pant  toward  the  shady  west. 
And  hope  in  sickening  disappointment  still. 
So,  when  the  times  of  restitution  come. 

The  sweet  times  of  refreshing  come  at  last. 
My  God  shall  fill  my  longings  to  the  brim 
Therefore  I  wait  and  look  and  long  for  Him : 
Not  wearied  though  the  work  is  wearisome. 

Nor  fainting  though  the  time  be  almost  past. 
1 8  December  1853. 


THERE  REMAINETH  A   REST  217 


THERE   REMAINETH   THEREFORE   A   REST 

IN  the  grave  will  be  no  space 
For  the  purple  of  the  proud  — 
They  must  mingle  with  the  crowd ' 
In  the  wrappings  of  a  shroud 
Jewels  would  be  out  of  place. 

There  no  laughter  shall  be  heard, 
Nor  the  heavy  sound  of  sighs : 
Sleep  shall  seal  the  aching  eyes : 
All  the  ancient  and  the  wise 

There  shall  utter  not  a  word. 

Yet  it  may  be  we  shall  hear 

How  the  mounting  skylark  sings 
x^nd  the  bell  for  matins  rings : 
Or  perhaps  the  whisperings 

Of  white  Angels  sweet  and  clear. 

What  a  calm  w^hen  all  is  done, 
Wearing  vigil,  prayer,  and  fast ! 
All  fulfilled  from  first  to  last : 
All  the  length  of  time  gone  past 

And  eternity  begun. 

Fear  and  hope  and  chastening  rod 
Urge  us  on  the  narrow  way : 


2i8  VE  HAVE  FORGOTTEIV 

Bear  we  still  as  best  we  may 

Heat  and  burden  of  the  day, 

Struggling,  panting  up  to  God. 

17  February  1854. 


YE  HAVE  FORGOTTEN  THE 
EXHORTATION 

ANGEL 

BURY  thy  dead,  dear  friend, 
Between  the  night  and  day : 
Where  depths  of  summer  shade  are  cool. 
And  murmurs  of  a  summer  pool 
And  windy  murmurs  stray :  — 

SOUL 

Ah  gone  away. 
Ah  dear  and  lost  delight, 
Gone  from  me  and  for  ever  out  of  sight! 

ANGEL 

Bury  thy  dead,  dear  love, 
And  make  his  bed  most  fair  above : 

The  latest  buds  shall  still 
Blow  there,  and  the  first  violets  too. 

And  there  a  turtle-dove 
Shall  brood  and  coo :  — 


THE  EXHORTATION  219 

SOUL 

I  cannot  make  the  nest 
So  warm  but  he  may  find  it  chill 
In  solitary  rest. 

ANGEL 

Bury  thy  dead  heart-deep: 
Take  patience  till  the  sun  be  set: 
There  are  no  tears  for  him  to  weep, 

No  doubts  to  haunt  him  yet : 
Take  comfort,  he  will  not  forget :  — 

SOUL 

Then  I  will  watch  beside  his  sleep : 
Will  watch  alone, 
And  make  my  moan 
Because  the  harvest  is  so  long  to  reap. 

ANGEL 

The  fields  are  white  to  harvest,  look  and  see, 
Are  white  abundantly. 
The  harvest-moon  shines  full  and  clear, 
The  harvest-time  is  near, 
Be  of  good  cheer :  — 

SOUL 

Ah  woe  is  me  ! 
I  have  no  heart  for  harvest-time. 
Grown  sick  with  hope  deferred  from  chime  to  chime. 


220  EXHORTATION  FORGOTTEN 

ANGEL 

But  One  can  give  thee  heart,  thy  Lord  and  his, 
Can  raise  both  thee  and  him 
To  shine  with  Seraphim, 
And  pasture  where  the  eternal  fountain  is; 
Can  give  thee  of  that  tree 
Whose  leaves  are  health  for  thee; 
Can  give  thee  robes  made  clean  and  white, 
And  love,  and  all  delight, 
And  beauty  whero  the  day  turns  not  to  night. 
Who  knockoth  zX  His  door, 
And  presseth  in,  goes  out  no  more. 
Kneel  as  thou  hast  not  knelt  before  — 
The  time  is  short  —  and  smite 
Upon  thy  breast  and  pray  with  all  thy  might :  — 

SOUL 

0  Lord,  my  heart  is  broken  for  my  sin : 
Yet  hasten  Thine  own  day 
And  come  away. 
Is  not  time  full?     Oh  put  the  sickle  in, 
O  Lord,  begin! 
10  May  1854. 


I 


UNFORGOTTEN  221 


UNFORGOTTEN 

O  UNFORGOTTEN ! 
How  long  ago?  one  spirit  saith. 
As  long  as  life  even  unto  death, 
The  passage  of  a  poor  frail  breath. 

O  unforgotten  1 
An  unforgotten  load  of  love, 
A  load  of  grief  all  griefs  above, 
A  blank  blank  nest  without  its  dove. 

As  long  as  time  is :  — 
No  longer?     Time  is  but  a  span. 
The  dalliance-space  of  empty  man : 
And  is  this  all  immortals  can? 

Ever  and  ever. 
Beyond  all  time,  beyond  all  space : 
Now  shadows  darkening  heart  and  face; 
Theft  glory  in  a  glorious  place. 

Sad  heart  and  spirit. 
Bowed  now,  yea  broken,  for  a  while  — 
Lagging  and  toiling  mile  by  mile. 
Yet  pressing  toward  the  Eternal  Smile. 

O  joy  eternal! 
O  youth  eternal  without  flaw !  — 
Thee  not  the  blessed  Angels  saw. 
Rapt  in  august  adoring  awe. 


222  ZION  SAID 

Not  the  dead  have  thee, 
Not  yet,  O  all-surpassing  peace : 
Not  till  this  veiling  world  shall  cease 
And  harvest  yield  its  whole  increase. 

Not  the  dead  know  thee, 
Not  dead  nor  living  nor  unborn : 
Who  in  the  new-sow^n  field  at  morn 
Can  measure  out  the  harvest  corn?  — 

Yet  they  shall  know  thee : 
And  we  with  them,  and  unborn  men 
With  us,  shall  know  and  have  thee  when 
The  single  grain  shall  wax  to  ten. 
1855. 


ZION   SAID 

O  SLAIN  for  love  of  me,  canst  Thou  be  cold, 
Be  cold  and  far  away  in  my  distress? 
Is  Thy  love  also  changed,  growing  less  and  less, 
That  carried  me  through  all  the  days  of  old? 

0  Slain  for  love  of  me,  O  Love  untold, 

See  how  I  flag  and  fail  through  weariness  : 
I  flag,  while  sleepless  foes  dog  me  and  press 
On  me :  behold,  O  Lord,  O  Love,  behold ! 

1  am  sick  for  home,  the  home  of  love  indeed  — 

I  am  sick  for  Love,  that  dearest  name  for  Thee : 


HYMN  AFTER    GABRIELE  ROSSETTI     223 

Thou  who  hast  bled,  see  how  my  heart  doth  bleed : 
Open  Thy  bleeding  Side  and  let  me  in: 
Oh  hide  me  in  Thy  Heart  from  doubt  and  sin, 
Oh  take  me  to  Thyself  and  comfort  me. 

31  December  1S55. 


HYMN   AFTER   GABRIELE   ROSSETTI 

FIRST    VERSION 
T'  amo  e  fra  dolci  affanni 

MY  Lord,  my  Love !  in  love's  unrest 
How  often  have  I  said, 
"Blessed  that  John  who  on  Thy  breast 

Reclined  his  head." 
Thy  touch  it  w^as,  Love's  Pelican, 

Transformed  him  from  above. 
And  made  him  amongst  men  the  man 
To  show  forth  holy  love. 

Yet  shall  I  envy  blessed  John? 

Nay,  not  so  verily, 
While  Thou  indwellest  as  Thine  own 

Me,  even  me : 
Upbuilding  with  Thy  Manhood's  worth 

My  frail  humanity; 
Yea  Thy  Divinehood  pouring  forth, 

In  fullness  filling  me. 


224      HYMN  AFTER    GABRIELE  ROSSETTI 

Me,  Lord,  Thy  temple  consecrate, 

Me  unto  Thee  alone; 
Within  my  heart  set  up  Thy  state 

And  mount  Thy  throne : 
The  Seraphim  in  ecstacy 

Fall  prone  around  Thy  house. 
For  which  of  them  hath  tasted  Thee, 

My  Manna  and  my  Spouse? 

Now  Thou  dost  wear  me  for  a  robe 
And  sway  and  warm  me  through, 

I  scarce  seem  lesser  than  the  globe, 
Thy  temple  too : 

O  God,  who  for  Thy  dwelling-place 
Dost  take  delight  in  me, 

The  ungirt  immensity  of  space 
Hath  not  encompassed  Thee. 


SECOND   VERSION 

My  Lord,  my  Love !  in  pleasant  pain 

How  often  have  I  said, 
"  Blessed  that  John  who  on  Thy  breast 

Laid  down  his  head." 
It  was  that  contact  all  divine 

Transformed  him  from  above. 
And  made  him  amongst  men  the  man 

To  show  forth  holy  love. 


HYMN  AFTER    GABRIELE  ROSSETTI     225 

Yet  shall  I  envy  blessed  John? 

Nay  not  so  verily, 
Now  that  Thou,  Lord,  both  Man  and  God, 

Dost  dwell  in  me : 
Upbuilding  with  Thy  Manhood's  might 

My  frail  humanity; 
Yea,  Thy  Divinehood  pouring  forth, 

In  fullness  filling  me. 

Me,  Lord,  Thy  temple  consecrate, 

Even  me  to  Thee  alone; 
Lord,  reign  upon  my  willing  heart 

Which  is  Thy  throne : 
To  Thee  the  Seraphim  fall  down 

Adoring  round  Thy  house; 
For  which  of  them  hath  tasted  Thee, 

My  Manna  and  my  Spouse  ? 

Now  that  Thy  life  lives  in  my  soul 

And  sways  and  warms  it  through, 
I  scarce  seem  lesser  than  the  world. 

Thy  temple  too. 
O  God,  who  dwellest  in  my  heart. 

My  God  who  fillest  me, 
The  broad  immensity  itself 

Hath  not  encompassed  Thee. 

Circa  1855, 
Q 


226  HOir  LOXG? 


HOW  LONG? 

MY  life  is  long  —  Not  so  the  Angels  say 
Who  watch  me  waste  it,  trembling  whilst  they 
weigh 
Against  eternity  my  lavished  day. 

^ly  life  is  long  —  Not  so  the  Saints  in  peace 

Judge,  filled  with  plenitude  that  cannot  cease : 

Oh  life  was  short  which  bought  such  large  increase ! 

!My  life  is  long  —  Christ's  word  is  different: 
The  heat  and  burden  of  the  day  were  spent 
On  Him,  —  to  me  refreshing  times  are  sent. 

Give  me  an  Angel's  heart,  that  day  nor  night 
Rests  not  from  adoration  its  delight. 
Still  crying  "Holy  holy"  in  the  height. 

Give  me  the  heart  of  Saints,  who,  laid  at  rest 
In  better  Paradise  than  Abraham's  breast, 
In  the  everlasting  Rock  have  made  their  nest. 

Give  me  Thy  heart,  O  Christ,  who  thirty-three 
Slow  years  of  sorrow  countedst  short  for  me. 
That  where  Thou  art  there  Thy  beloved  might  be. 
14  April  1856. 


A   MARTVR  227 

A   MARTYR 

IT  is  over  the  horrible  pain, 
All  is  over  the  struggle  and  doubt : 
She's  asleep  though  her  friends  stand  and  weep, 

She's  asleep  while  the  multitudes  shout: 
Not  to  wake  to  her  anguish  again, 
Not  to  wake  until  death  is  cast  out. 

Stoop,  look  at  the  beautiful  face, 

See  the  smile  on  the  satisfied  mouth. 
The  hands  crost  —  she  hath  conquered  not  lost : 

She  hath  drunk  who  was  fevered  with  drouth : 
She  shall  sleep  in  her  safe  resting-place 

While   the   hawk  spreads   her   wings   toward   the 
South. 

She  shall  sleep  while  slow  seasons  are  given, 
While  daylight  and  darkness  go  round : 

Her  heart  is  at  rest  in  its  nest. 
Her  body  at  rest  in  the  ground : 

She  has  travelled  the  long  road  to  heaven. 
She  sought  it  and  now  she  has  found. 

Will  you  follow  the  track  that  she  trod. 

Will  you  tread  in  her  footsteps,  my  friend? 

That  pathway  is  rough,  but  enough 

Are  the  light  and  the  balm  that  attend. 

Do  I  tread  in  her  steps,  O  my  God, — 
Shall  I  joy  with  her  joy  in  the  end? 

23  April  1856. 


228  ATQiv  THEY  DESIRE 


NOW   THEY   DESIRE 

THERE  is  a  sleep  we  have  not  slept, 
Safe  in  a  bed  unknown : 
There  hearts  are  staunched  that  long  have  wept 

Alone  or  bled  alone : 
Sweet  sleep  that  dreams  not,  or  whose  dream 

Is  foretaste  of  the  truth : 
Sweet  sleep  whose  sweets  are  what  they  seem, 
Refreshing  more  than  youth. 

There  is  a  sea  whose  waters  clear 

Are  never  tempest-tost : 
There  is  a  home  whose  children  dear 

Are  saved,  not  one  is  lost : 
There  Cherubim  and  Seraphim 

And  Angels  dwell  with  Saints, 
Whose  lustre  no  more  dwindleth  dim, 

Whose  ardour  never  faints. 

There  is  a  Love  which  fills  desire 

And  can  our  love  requite : 
Like  fire  it  draws  our  lesser  fire, 

Like  greater  light  our  light: 
For  it  we  agonize  in  strife. 

We  yearn,  we  famish  thus  — 
Lo  in  the  far-off  land  of  life 

Doth  it  not  yearn  for  us? 


iVOJV  THEY  DESIRE  229 

O  fair,  O  fair  Jerusalem, 

How  fair,  how  far  away. 
When  shall  we  see  thy  Jasper-gem 

That  gives  thee  light  for  day  ? 
Thy  sea  of  glass  like  fire,  thy  streets 

Of  glass  like  virgin  gold. 
Thy  royal  Elders  on  their  seats, 

Thy  four  Beasts  manifold? 

Fair  City  of  delights,  the  bride 

In  raiment  white  and  clean, 
When  shall  we  see  the  loving-eyed, 

Sun-girdled,  happy  Queen? 
Without  a  wrinkle  or  a  spot. 

Blood-cleansed,  blood-purchased  once  : 
In  how  fair  ground  is  fallen  the  lot 

Of  all  thy  happy  sons ! 

Dove's  eyes  beneath  thy  parted  lock, 

A  dove's  soft  voice  is  thine : 
Thy  nest  is  safe  within  the  Rock, 

Safe  in  the  very  Vine : 
Thy  walls  salvation  buildeth  them 

And  all  thy  gates  are  praise, 
O  fair,  O  fair  Jerusalem, 

In  sevenfold  day  of  days. 
13  August  1856. 


230  A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

A  CHRISTMAS  CAROL 

For  my  Godchildren 

THE  Shepherds  had  an  Angela 
The  Wise  Men  had  a  star, 
But  what  have  I,  a  little  child, 
To  guide  me  home  from  far. 
Where  glad  stars  sing  together 
And  singing  angels  are?  — 

Lord  Jesus  is  my  Guardian, 

So  I  can  nothing  lack : 
The  lambs  lie  in  His  bosom 

Along  life's  dangerous  track: 
The  wilful  lambs  that  go  astray 

He  bleeding  fetches  back. 

Lord  Jesus  is  my  guiding  star, 
My  beacon-light  in  heaven : 

He  leads  me  step  by  step  along 
The  path  of  life  uneven : 

He,  true  light,  leads  me  to  that  land 
Whose  day  shall  be  as  seven. 

Those  Shepherds  through  the  lonely  night 
Sat  watching  by  their  sheep. 


A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL  231 

Until  they  saw  the  heavenly  host 
Who  neither  tire  nor  sleep, 
All  singing  **  Glory  glory  " 
In  festival  they  keep. 

Christ  watches  me,  His  little  lamb, 

Cares  for  me  day  and  night, 
That  I  may  be  His  own  in  heaven: 

So  angels  clad  in  white 
Shall  sing  their  '^ Glory  glory" 

For  my  sake  in  the  height. 

The  Wise  Men  left  their  country 
To  journey  morn  by  morn, 
With  gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh, 
Because  the  Lord  was  born : 
God  sent  a  star  to  guide  them 
And  sent  a  dream  to  warn. 

My  life  is  like  their  journey, 
Their  star  is  like  God's  book, 

I  must  be  like  those  good  Wise  Men 
With  heavenward  heart  and  look : 

But  shall  I  give  no  gifts  to  God?  — 
What  precious  gifts  they  took! 

Lord,  I  will  give  my  love  to  Thee, 

Than  gold  much  costlier. 
Sweeter  to  Thee  than  frankincense. 

More  prized  than  choicest  myrrh : 


232  NOT   YOURS  BUT  YOU 

Lord,  make  me  dearer  day  by  day, 
Day  by  day  holier; 

Nearer  and  dearer  by  day : 
Till  I  my  voice  unite, 
And  sing  my  '*  Glory  glory  " 
With  angels  clad  in  white; 
All  "Glory  glory  "  given  to  Thee 

Through  all  the  heavenly  height. 
6  October  1856. 

NOT  YOURS   BUT   YOU 

"  T  TE  died  for  me:  what  can  I  offer  Him? 
i  X  Toward-  Him    swells    incense    of    perpetual 

prayer : 
His  court  wear  crowns  and  aureoles  round  their 
hair: 
His  ministers  are  subtle  Cherubim; 
Ring  within  ring,  white  intense  Seraphim 

Leap  like  immortal  lightnings  through  the  air. 
What  shall  I  offer  Him?  defiled  and  bare, 
My  spirit  broken  and  my  brightness  dim."  — 
"  Give  Me  thy  youth."  —  "  I  yield  it  to  Thy  rod, 
As  Thou  didst  yield  Thy  prime  of  youth  for  me."  — 
"  Give  Me  thy  lif  e. "  —  "I  give  it  breath  by  breath. 
As  Thou  didst  give  Thy  life  so  give  I  Thee."  — 
"Give  ^le  thy  love."  —  "So  be  it,  my  God,  my  God, 
As  Thou  hast  loved  me  even  to  bitter  death." 

27  October  1856. 


HEART'S  BITTERNESS  233 


THE   HEART   KNOWETH   ITS   OWN 
BITTERNESS 

WHEN  all  the  over-work  of  life 
Is  finished  once,  and  fast  asleep 
We  swerve  no  more  beneath  the  knife 

But  taste  that  silence  cool  and  deep; 
Forgetful  of  the  highways  rough, 
Forgetful  of  the  thorny  scourge, 
Forgetful  of  the  tossing  surge. 
Then  shall  we  find  it  is  enough? 

How  can  we  say  ^^  enough  "  on  earth  — 
"Enough  "  with  such  a  craving  heart? 

I  have  not  found  it  since  my  birth. 
But  still  have  bartered  part  for  part, 

I  have  not  held  and  hugged  the  whole, 
But  paid  the  old  to  gain  the  new : 
Much  have  I  paid,  yet  much  is  due, 

Till  I  am  beggared  sense  and  soul. 

I  used  to  labour,  used  to  strive 
For  pleasure  with  a  restless  will : 

Now  if  I  save  my  soul  alive 

All  else  what  matters,  good  or  ill? 

I  used  to  dream  alone,  to  plan 

Unspoken  hopes  and  days  to  come :  — 
Of  all  my  past  this  is  the  sum  — 

I  will  not  lean  on  child  of  man. 


234  HEARTS  BITTERNESS 

To  give,  to  give,  not  to  receive ! 

I  long  to  pour  myself,  my  soul, 
Not  to  keep  back  or  count  or  leave, 

But  king  with  king  to  give  the  whole. 
I  long  for  one  to  stir  my  deep  — 

I  have  had  enough  of  help  and  gift  — 

I  long  for  one  to  search  and  sift 
Myself,  to  take  myself  and  keep. 

You  scratch  my  surface  with  your  pin, 

You  stroke  me  smooth  with  hushing  breath : 

Nay  pierce,  nay  probe,  nay  dig  within, 
Probe  my  quick  core  and  sound  my  depth. 

You  call  me  with  a  puny  call. 

You  talk,  you  smile,  you  nothing  do : 
How  should  I  spend  my  heart  on  you. 

My  heart  that  so  outweighs  you  all? 

Your  vessels  are  by  much  too  strait : 
Were  I  to  pour,  you  could  not  hold.  — 

Bear  with  me :  I  must  bear  to  wait, 

A  fountain  sealed  through  heat  and  cold. 

Bear  with  me  days  or  m.onths  or  years : 
Deep  must  call  deep  until  the  end 
When  friend  shall  no  more  envy  friend 

Nor  vex  his  friend  at  unawares. 

Not  in  this  world  of  hope  deferred, 
This  world  of  perishable  stuff :  — 

Eye  hath  not  seen  nor  ear  hath  heard 

Nor  heart  conceived  that  full  '^enough  " : 


A   BURDEN  235 

Here  moans  the  separating  sea, 

Here  harvests  fail,  here  breaks  the  heart: 
There  God  shall  join  and  no  man  part, 

I  full  of  Christ  and  Christ  of  me. 
27  August  1857. 


A   BURDEN 

THEY  lie  at  rest  asleep  and  dead, 
The  dew  is  cool  above  their  head, 
They  knew  not  when  past  summer  fled  — 

A7ne7i, 

They  lie  at  rest  and  quite  forget 

The  hopes  and  fears  that  wring  us  yet : 

Their  eyes  are  set,  their  heart  is  set  — 

Amen, 

They  lie  with  us,  yet  gone  away 
Hear  nothing  that  we  sob  or  say 
Beneath  the  thorn  of  wintry  May  — 

Miserere. 

They  lie  asleep  with  us,  and  take 

Sweet  rest  although  our  heart  should  ache, 

Rest  on  although  our  heart  should  break  — 

Miserere. 


236  A   BURDEN 

Together  all  yet  each  alone, 
Each  laid  at  rest  beneath  his  own 
Smooth  turf  or  white  appointed  stone  — 

Amen, 

When  shall  our  slumbers  be  so  deep, 
And  bleeding  heart  and  eyes  that  weep 
Lie  lapped  in  the  sufficient  sleep?  — 

Miserere. 

We  dream  of  them,  and  who  shall  say 
They  never  dream  while  far  away 
Of  us  between  the  night  and  day?  — 

Sursum  Corda, 

Gone  far  away :  or  it  may  be 

They  lean  toward  us  and  hear  and  see, 

Yea  and  remember  more  than  we  — 

Amen. 

For  wherefore  should  we  think  them  far 
Who  know  not  where  those  spirits  are 
That  shall  be  glorious  as  a  star?  — 

Hallelujah. 

Where  chill  or  change  can  never  rise, 

Deep  in  the  depth  of  Paradise 

They  rest  world-wearied  heart  and  eyes  — 

Jubilate. 


A   BURDEN  237 

Safe  as  a  hidden  brooding  dove, 
With  perfect  peace  within,  above. 
They  love,  and  look  for  perfect  love  — 

Hallelujah, 

We  hope  and  love  with  throbbing  breast, 
They  hope  and  love  and  are  at  rest: 
And  yet  we  question  which  is  best  — 

Aliserere, 

Oh  what  is  earth,  that  we  should  build 
Our  houses  here,  and  seek  concealed 
Poor  treasure,  and  add  field  to  field 

And  heap  to  heap  and  store  to  store. 

Still  grasping  more  and  seeking  more 

While  Death  stands  knocking  at  the  door?  — 

Ctci  bono? 

But  one  will  answer :  Changed  and  pale 
And  sick  at  heart,  I  thirst,  I  fail 
For  love,  I  thirst  without  avail  — 

Miserriina. 

Sweet  love,  a  fountain  sealed  to  me : 
Sweet  love,  the  one  sufficiency 
For  all  the  longings  that  can  be  — 

Aine7i, 

Oh  happy  they  alone  whose  lot 

Is  love  !     I  search  from  spot  to  spot : 

In  life,  in  death,  I  find  it  not  — 

Mise7'rivia. 


238  A   BURDEN- 

Not  found  in  life :  nay  verily. 

I  too  have  sought :  come  sit  with  me, 

And  grief  for  grief  shall  answer  thee  — 

Miserritna. 

Sit  with  me  where  the  sapless  leaves 
Are  heaped  and  sere :  to  him  who  grieves 
What  cheer  have  last  year's  harvest-sheaves?  — 

Cui  bono? 

Not  found  in  life  yet  found  in  death. 
Hush,  throbbing  heart  and  sobbing  breath ! 
There  is  a  nest  of  love  beneath 

The  sod,  a  home  prepared  before : 
Our  brethren  whom  one  mother  bore 
Live  there,  and  toil  and  ache  no  more  — 

Hallelujah, 

Our  friends,  our  kinsfolk,  great  and  small, 
Our  loved,  our  best  beloved  of  all, 
They  watch  across  the  parting  wall 

(Do  they  not  watch  ?)  and  count  the  creep 
Of  time,  and  sound  the  shallowing  deep, 
Till  we  in  port  shall  also  sleep  — 

Hallelujah,  A77ien, 
16  July  1858. 


ONLY  BELIEVE  239 


ONLY   BELIEVE 

STOOD  by  weeping 
Yet  a  sorrowful  silence  keeping 
While  an  Angel  smote  my  love 
As  she  lay  sleeping. 


I 


"  Is  there  a  bed  above 

More  fragrant  than  these  violets 
That  are  white  like  death?  " 

"White  like  a  dove, 
Flowers  in  the  blessed  islets 

Breathe  sweeter  breath 
All  fair  morns  and  twilights." 

"  Is  the  gold  there 
More  golden  than  these  tresses?" 

"There  heads  are  aureoled 
And  crowned  like  gold 
With  light  most  rare." 

"  Are  the  bowers  of  Heaven 
More  choice  than  these?" 

"To  them  are  given 
All  odorous  shady  trees 


240  A   SHADOW  OF  DOROTHEA 

Earth's  bowers  are  wildernesses, 
Compared  with  the  recesses 

Made  soft  there  now 
Nest-like  twixt  bough  and  bough." 

'^Who  shall  live  in  such  a  nest?  " 

"  Heart  with  heart  at  rest : 
All  they  whose  troubles  cease 
In  peace : 
Souls  that  wrestled 
Now  are  nestled 
There  at  ease,  — 
Throng  from  east  and  west, 
From  north  and  south, 
To  plenty  from  the  land  of  drouth." 

September  1858. 


A    SHADOW   OF    DOROTHEA 

GOLDEN-HAIRED,  lily-white, 
Will  you  pluck  me  lilies? 
Or  will  you  show  me  where  they  grow, 

Show  where  the  summer  rill  is? 
But  is  your  hair  of  gold  or  light, 
And  is  your  foot  of  flake  or  fire. 
And  have  you  wings  rolled  up  from  sight. 
And  joy  to  slake  desire?  " 


1 


A   SHADOW  OF  DOROTHEA  241 

"  I  pluck  young  flowers  of  Paradise, 
Lilies  and  roses  red : 
A  sceptre  for  my  hand, 
A  crown  to  crown  my  golden  head. 
Love  makes  me  wise : 
I  sing,  I  stand, 
I  pluck  palm-branches  in  the  sheltered  land." 

"  Is  there  a  path  to  heaven 

My  heavy  foot  may  tread? 
And  will  you  show  that  way  to  go, 

That  rose  and  lily  bed? 

Which  day  of  all  these  seven 

Will  lighten  my  heart  of  lead. 
Will  purge  mine  eyes  and  make  me  wise, 
Alive  or  dead?  " 

"There  is  a  heavenward  stair  — 
Mount,  strain  upwards,  strain  and  strain  — 
Each  step  will  crumble  to  your  foot 
That  never  shall  descend  again. 
There  grows  a  tree  from  ancient  root 
With  healing  leaves  and  twelvefold  fruit 

In  musical  heaven-air: 
Feast  with  me  there.'* 

"  I  have  a  home  on  earth  I  cannot  leave, 
I  have  a  friend  on  earth  I  cannot  grieve : 
Come  down  to  me,  I  cannot  mount  to  you.'* 


I 


242  ASH   WEDNESDAY 

"  Nay,  choose  between  us  both, 
Choose  as  you  are  lief  or  loth : 
You  cannot  keep  these  things  and  have  me  too." 

II  November  18^8. 


FOR   HENRIETTA   POLYDORE 


o 


N  the  land  and  on  the  sea 
Jesus  keep  both  you  and  me : 


Going  out  and  coming  in, 

Christ  keep  us  both  from  shame  and  sin : 

In  this  world,  in  the  world  to  come, 
Keep  us  safe  and  lead  us  home : 

To-day  in  toil,  to-night  in  rest. 
Be  best  beloved  and  love  us  best. 

16  January  1859. 


ASH   WEDNESDAY 

JESUS,  do  I  love  Thee? 
J   Thou  art  far  above  me. 
Seated  out  of  sight. 
Hid  in  heavenly  light 
Of  most  highest  height. 


ASH   WEDNESDAY  243 

Martyred  hosts  implore  Thee, 
Seraphs  fall  before  Thee, 
Angels  and  Archangels, 
Cherub  throngs  adore  Thee. 
Blessed  she  that  bore  Thee ! 
All  the  saints  approve  Thee, 
All  the  virgins  love  Thee. 
I  show  as  a  blot 
Blood  hath  cleansed  not, 
As  a  barren  spot 
In  thy  fruitful  lot; 
I,  fig-tree  fruit-unbearing. 
Thou,  righteous  Judge  unsparing: 
What  canst  Thou  do  more  to  me 
That  shall  not  more  undo  me  ? 
Thy  Justice  hath  a  sound, 
"Why  cumbereth  it  the  ground?" 
Thy  Love  with  stirrings  stronger 
Pleads,  "Give  it  one  year  longer." 
Thou  giv'st  me  time:  but  who 
Save  Thou  shall  give  me  dew. 
Shall  feed  my  root  with  blood 
And  stir  my  sap  for  good?  — 
Oh  by  Thy  gifts  that  shame  me 
Give  more  lest  they  condemn  me. 
Good  Lord,  I  ask  much  of  Thee, 
But  most  I  ask  to  love  Thee : 
Kind  Lord,  be  mindful  of  me. 
Love  me  and  make  me  love  Thee. 

21  March  1859. 


244  A    CHRISTMAS   CAROL 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

BEFORE  the  paling  of  the  stars, 
Before  the  winter  morn, 
Before  the  earliest  cock-crow 
Jesus  Christ  was  born : 

Born  in  a  stable 
Cradled  in  a  manger, 
In  the  world  His  hands  had  made 
Born  a  stranger. 

Priest  and  King  lay  fast  asleep 

In  Jerusalem, 
Young  and  old  lay  fast  asleep 

In  crowded  Bethlehem : 
Saint  and  Angel,  ox  and  ass, 

Kept  a  watch  together. 
Before  the  Christmas  daybreak 

In  the  winter  weather. 

Jesus  on  His  Mother's  breast 

In  the  stable  cold. 
Spotless  Lamb  of  God  was  He, 

Shepherd  of  the  fold : 
Let  us  kneel  with  Mary  Maid, 

With  Joseph  bent  and  hoary. 
With  Saint  and  Angel,  ox  and  ass. 

To  hail  the  King  of  Glory. 

26  August  18590 


EASTER  EVEN  245 


EASTER    EVEN 

THERE  is  nothing  more  that  they  can  do 
For  all  their  rage  and  boast : 
Caiaphas  with  his  blaspheming  crew, 
Herod  with  his  host; 

Pontius  Pilate  in  his  judgment  hall 

Judging  their  Judge  and  his, 
Or  he  who  led  them  all  and  past  them  all, 

Arch-Judas  with  his  kiss. 

The  sepulchre  made  sure  with  ponderous  stone, 

Seal  that  same  stone,  O  priest : 
It  may  be  thou  shalt  block  the  Holy  One 

From  rising  in  the  east. 

Set  a  watch  about  the  sepulchre 

To  watch  on  pain  of  death : 
They  must  hold  fast  the  stone  if  One  should  stir 

And  shake  it  from  beneath. 

God  Almighty,  He  can  break  a  seal. 

And  roll  away  a  stone : 
Can  grind  the  proud  in  dust  who  would  not  kneel, 

And  crush  the  mighty  one. 


246  EASTER   EVEN 

There  is  nothing  more  that  they  can  do 

For  all  their  passionate  care, 
Those  who  sit  in  dust,  the  blessed  few, 

And  weep  and  rend  their  hair. 

Peter,  Thomas,  IMary  Magdalen, 

The  Virgin  unreproved, 
Joseph  and  Nicodemus  foremost  men, 

And  John  the  well-beloved. 

Bring  your  finest  linen  and  your  spice, 

Swathe  the  sacred  Dead, 
Bind  with  careful  hands  and  piteous  eyes 

The  napkin  round  His  head : 

Lay  Him  in  the  garden-rock  to  rest : 

Rest  you  the  Sabbath  length : 
The  Sun  that  went  down  crimson  in  the  west 

Shall  rise  renewed  in  strength. 

God  Almighty  shall  give  joy  for  pain. 
Shall  comfort  him  who  grieves : 

Lo  He  with  joy  shall  doubtless  come  again 
And  with  Him  bring  His  sheaves. 

23  March  1861. 


I 


THE  OFFERING    OF  THE  NEW  LAW    247 


THE   OFFERING   OF   THE   NEW   LAW 

ONCE  I  thought  to  sit  so  high 
In  the  palace  of  the  sky : 
Now  I  thank  God  for  His  grace 
.  If  I  may  fill  the  lowest  place. 

Once  I  thought  to  scale  so  soon 
Heights  above  the  changing  moon: 
Now  I  thank  God  for  delay :  — 
To-day :  it  yet  is  called  to-day. 

While  I  stumble,  halt  and  blind, 
Lo  He  wa^teth  to  be  kind : 
Bless  me  soon  or  bless  me  slow  — 
Except  He  bless  I  let  not  go. 

Once  for  earth  I  laid  my  plan, 
Once  I  leaned  on  strength  of  man : 
When  my  hope  was  swept  aside 
I  stayed  my  broken  heart  on  pride : 

Broken  reed  hath  pierced  my  hand, 
Fell  my  house  I  built  on  sand, 
Roofless,  wounded,  maimed  by  sin. 
Fightings  without  and  fears  within. 


248        BV  THE    WATERS   OF  BABYLON 

Yet,  His  tree,  He  feeds  my  root: 
Yet,  His  branch,  He  prunes  for  fruit: 
Yet,  His  sheep,  these  eves  and  morns 
He  seeks  for  me  among  the  thorns. 

With  Thine  Image  stamped  of  old, 
Find  Thy  coin  more  choice  than  gold: 
Known  to  Thee  by  name,  recall 
To  Thee  Thy  homesick  prodigal. 

Sacrifice  and  offering 

None  there  is  that  I  can  bring  — 

None  save  what  is  Thine  alone : 

I  bring  Thee,  Lord,  but  of  Thine  own. 

Broken  Body,  Blood  outpoured, 
These  I  bring,  my  God,  my  Lord; 
Wine  of  Life  and  Living  Bread, 
With  these  for  me  Thy  board  is  spread. 
23  May  1 861. 


BY  THE   WATERS   OF   BABYLON 

BY  the  waters  of  Babylon 
We  sit  down  and  weep, 
Far  from  the  pleasant  land 
Where  our  fathers  sleep: 
Far  from  our  Holy  Place 

From  which  the  Glory  is  gone : 


BY  THE   IVATERS   OF  BABYLON        249 

We  sit  in  dust  and  weep 
By  the  waters  of  Babylon. 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon 

The  willow- trees  grow  rank: 
We  hang  our  harps  thereon 

Silent  upon  the  bank. 
Before  us  the  days  are  dark, 

And  dark  the  days  that  are  gone: 
We  grope  in  the  very  dark 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon. 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon 

We  thirst  for  Jordan  yet, 
We  pine  for  Jerusalem 

Whereon  our  hearts  are  set : 
Our  priests  defiled  and  slain, 

Our  princes  ashamed  and  gone, 
Oh  how  should  we  forget 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon? 

By  the  waters  of  Babylon 

Though  the  wicked  grind  the  just, 
Our  seed  shall  yet  strike  root 

And  shall  shoot  up  from  the  dust; 
The  captive  shall  lead  captive. 

The  slave  rise  up  and  begone, 
And  thou  too  shalt  sit  in  dust, 

O  daughter  of  Babylon. 
I  December  186 1. 


2;o  OUT  OF  THE   DEEP 


WITHIN   THE   VEIL 

SHE  holds  a  lily  in  her  hand, 
Where  long  ranks  of  Angels  stand : 
A  silver  lily  for  her  wand. 

All  her  hair  falls  sweeping  down, 
Her  hair  that  is  a  golden  brown, 
A  crown  beneath  her  golden  crown. 

Blooms  a  rose-bush  at  her  knee, 
Good  to  smell  and  good  to  see : 
It  bears  a  rose  for  her,  for  me : 

Her  rose  a  blossom  richly  grown, 
]My  rose  a  bud  not  fully  blown 
But  sure  one  day  to  be  mine  own. 

13  December  1861. 


OUT    OF  THE    DEEP 

HAVE  mercy,  Thou  my  God  —  mercy,  my  God ! 
For  I  can  hardly  bear  life  day  by  day. 
Be  I  here  or  there,  I  fret  myself  away: 
Lo  for  Thy  staff  I  have  but  felt  Thy  rod 
Along  this  tedious  desert-path  long  trod. 

When  will  Thy  judgment  judge  me,  yea  or  nay? 
I  pray  for  grace :  but  then  my  sins  unpray 
My  prayer :  on  holy  ground  I  fool  stand  shod  — 


FOR   A   MERCY  RECEIVED  25 

While  still  Thou  haunt' st  me,  faint  upon  the  cross, 
A  sorrow  beyond  sorrow  in  Thy  look, 

Unutterable  craving  for  my  soul. 
All-faithful  Thou,  Lord :  I,  not  Thou,  forsook 
Myself :  I  traitor  slunk  back  from  the  goal : 
Lord,  I  repent  —  help  Thou  my  helpless  loss. 
17  December  1862. 


FOR   A   MERCY   RECEIVED 

THANK  God  who  spared  me  what  I  feared! 
Once  more  I  gird  myself  to  run. 
Thy  promise  stands.  Thou  Faithful  One. 
Horror  of  darkness  disappeared 
At  length :  once  more  I  see  the  sun, 

And  dare  to  wait  in  hope  for  Spring, 
To  face  and  bear  the  Winter's  cold: 
The  dead  cocoon  shall  yet  unfold 

And  give  to  light  the  living  wnng : 

There's  hidden  sap  beneath  the  mould. 

My  God,  how  could  my  courage  flag 
So  long  as  Thou  art  still  the  same? 
For  what  were  labour,  failure,  shame, 

Whilst  Thy  sure  promise  doth  not  lag, 

And  Thou  dost  shield  me  wath  Thy  Name? 


252  FOR   A   MERCY  RECEIl'ED 

Yet  am  I  weak,  my  faith  is  weak, 

My  heart  is  weak  that  pleads  with  Thee : 

O  Thou  that  art  not  far  to  seek, 

Turn  to  me,  hearken  when  I  speak. 
Stretch  forth  Thy  hand  to  succour  me. 

Through  many  perils  have  I  past, 

Deaths,  plagues,  and  wonders,  have  I  seen : 

Till  now  Thy  hand  hath  held  me  fast : 

Lord,  help  me,  hold  me,  to  the  last: 
Still  be  what  Thou  hast  always  been. 

Open  Thy  Heart  of  Love  to  me. 

Give  me  Thyself,  keep  nothing  back, 
Even  as  I  give  myself  to  Thee. 

Love  paid  by  love  doth  nothing  lack, 

And  Love  to  pay  love  is  not  slack. 

Love  doth  so  grace  and  dignify 

That  beggars  sue  as  king  with  king 
Before  the  Throne  of  Grace  on  high : 
My  God,  be  gracious  to  my  cry : 

My  God,  accept  what  gift  I  bring :  — 

A  heart  that  loves :  though  soiled  and  bruised, 

Yet  chosen  by  Thee  in  time  of  yore. 
Who  ever  came  and  was  refused 
By  Thee?     Do,  Lord,  as  Thou  art  used 

To  do,  and  make  me  love  Thee  more.  j 

1 

\'^  January  1863.  j 


CHRIST,  THE  SAINTS,  AND  THE  SOUL 


CONFERENCE   BETWEEN    CHRIST,    THE 
SAINTS,    AND   THE   SOUL 

I  AM  pale  with  sick  desire. 
For  my  heart  is  far  away 
From  this  world's  fitful  fire 

And  this  world's  waning  day; 
In  a  dream  it  overleaps 

A  world  of  tedious  ills 
To  where  the  sunshine  sleeps 
On  the  everlasting  hills. 
Say  the  Saints  —  "  There  Angels  ease  us, 
Glorified  and  white." 

They  say  —  "  We  rest  in  Jesus, 
Where  is  not  day  nor  night." 

My  Soul  saith  —  ''Y  have  sought 

For  a  home  that  is  not  gained; 
I  have  spent  yet  nothing  bought. 

Have  laboured  but  not  attained; 
My  pride  strove  to  rise  and  grow, 

And  hath  but  dwindled  down; 
My  love  sought  love,  and  lo 

Hath  not  attained  its  crown." 
Say  the  Saints  —  "  Fresh  souls  increase  us. 
None  languish  nor  recede." 

They  say  —  "  We  love  our  Jesus, 
And  He  loves  us  indeed." 


234      CHRIST,  THE  SAIXTS,  AND  THE  SOUL 

I  cannot  rise  above, 

I  cannot  rest  beneath, 
I  cannot  find  out  love, 

Nor  escape  from  death; 
Dear  hopes  and  joys  gone  by 
Still  mock  me  with  a  name; 
My  best-beloved  die 

And  I  cannot  die  with  them. 
Say  the  Saints  —  "  No  deaths  decrease  us, 
Where  our  rest  is  glorious." 
They  say  —  "  We  live  in  Jesus, 
Who  once  died  for  us." 


Oh  my  Soul  she  beats  her  wings, 

And  pants  to  fly  away 
Up  to  immortal  things 
In  the  heavenly  day. 
Yet  she  flags  and  almost  faints; 
Can  such  be  meant  for  me? 
"Come  and  see  "  —  say  thq  Saints. 

Saith  Jesus  —  "Come  and  see." 
Say  the  Saints  —  "His  pleasures  please  us 

Before  God  and  the  Lamb." 
"Come  and  taste  My  sweets"  —  saith  Jesus - 
"  Be  with  Me  where  I  am." 
Circa  1863. 


IN  PATIENCE  255 

COME   UNTO   ME 

OH    for  the  time  gone  by  when  thought  of  Christ 
Made  His  yoke  easy  and  His  burden  light! 
When  my  heart  stirred  within  me  at  the  sight 

Of  altar  spread  for  awful  Eucharist : 

When  all  my  hopes  His  promises  sufficed : 

When  my  soul  watched  for  Him,  by  day,  by  night: 
When  my  lamp  lightened  and  my  robe  was  white^ 

And  all  seemed  loss  except  the  pearl  unpriced. 

Yet,  since  He  calls  me  still  with  tender  call, 
Since  He  remembers  whom  I  half  forgot, 
I  even  will  run  my  race  and  bear  my  lot : 
For  Faith  the  walls  of  Jericho  cast  down, 
And  Hope  to  whoso  runs  holds  forth  a  crown, 

And  Love  is  Christ,  and  Christ  is  all  in  all. 
22^  February  1864. 

IN   PATIENCE 

I  WILL  not  faint,  but  trust  in  God 
Who  this  my  lot  hath  given : 
He  leads  me  by  the  thorny  road 
Which  is  the  road  to  heaven. 
Though  sad  my  day  that  lasts  so  long. 
At  evening  I  shall  have  a  song : 
Though  dim  my  day  until  the  night, 
At  evening-time  there  shall  be  light. 


256  NONE   WITH  HIM 

My  life  is  but  a  working  day 

Whose  tasks  are  set  aright : 
A  while  to  work,  a  while  to  pray 

And  then  a  quiet  night. 
And  then,  please  God,  a  quiet  night 
Where  Saints  and  Angels  walk  in  white : 
One  dreamless  sleep  from  work  and  sorrow, 
But  re -awakening  on  the  morrow. 
19  March  1864. 


NONE   WITH   HIM 

MY  God,  to  live :  how  didst  Thou  bear  to  live, 
Preaching  and  teaching,  toiling  to  and  fro? 
Few  men  accepting  what  Thou  hadst  to  give, 
Few  men  prepared  to  know 
Thy  face,  to  see  the  truth  Thou  cam'st  to  show. 

My  God,  to  die :  how  didst  Thou  bear  to  die 
That  long  slow  death  in  weariness  of  pain? 

A  curse  and  an  astonishment,  past  by, 
Pointed  at,  mocked  again. 
By  men  for  whom  Thy  blood  was  shed  in  vain. 

Whilst  I  do  hardly  bear  my  easy  life. 
And  hardly  face  my  easy-coming  death: 

I  turn  to  flee  before  the  tug  of  strife; 

And  shrink  with  troubled  breath 
From  sleep,  that  is  not  death.  Thy  Spirit  saith. 

i^/une  1864, 


BIRDS   OF  PARADISE  257 


BIRDS   OF   PARADISE 

GOLDEN-WINGED,  silver-winged, 
Winged  with  flashing  flame, 
Such  a  flight  of  birds  I  saw, 

Birds  without  a  name  •. 
Singing  songs  in  their  own  tongue  — 
Song  of  songs  —  they  came. 

One  to  another  calling. 

Each  answering  each. 
One  to  another  calling, 
In  their  proper  speech : 
High  above  my  head  they  wheeled, 

Far  out  of  reach. 

On  wnngs  of  flame  they  w^nt  and  came 

With  a  cadenced  clang : 

Their  silver  wings  tinkled. 

Their  golden  wings  rang; 
The  wind  it  whistled  through  their  wings 

Where  in  heaven  they  sang. 

They  flashed  and  they  darted 

Awhile  before  mine  eyes, 
Mounting,  mounting,  mounting  still, 

In  haste  to  scale  the  skies. 
Birds  without  a  nest  on  earth, 

Birds  of  Paradise. 


258  /  KNOW   VOU  NOT 

Where  the  moon  riseth  not 
Nor  sun  seeks  the  west, 
There  to  sing  their  glory 
Which  they  sing  at  rest, 
There  to  sing  their  love-song 
When  they  sing  their  best :  — 

Not  in  any  garden 

That  mortal  foot  hath  trod, 
Not  in  any  flowering  tree 

That  springs  from  earthly  sod, 
But  in  the  garden  where  they  dwell, 

The  Paradise  of  God. 
14  November  1864. 


I   KNOW  YOU   NOT 

O  CHRIST,  the  Vine  with  living  fruit, 
The  twelvefold-fruited  Tree  of  Life, 
The  Balm  in  Gilead  after  strife. 
The  Valley-lily  and  the  Rose; 
Stronger  than  Lebanon,  Thou  Root; 
Sweeter  than  clustered  grapes,  Thou  Vine; 
O  best.  Thou  Vineyard  of  red  wine. 
Keeping  Thy  best  wine  till  the  close. 

Pearl  of  great  price  Thyself  alone,  jH 

And  ruddier  than  the  ruby  Thou; 


/  KNOIV  YOU  NOT  259 

Most  precious  lightning  Jasper  stone, 
Head  of  the  corner  spurned  before : 
Fair  gate  of  pearl,  Thyself  the  Door; 
Clear  golden  street,  Thyself  the  Way; 

By  Thee  we  journey  toward  Thee  now, 
Through  Thee  shall  enter  heaven  one  day. 

I  thirst  for  Thee,  full  fount  and  flood; 
My  heart  calls  Thine,  as  deep  to  deep : 
Dost  Thou  forget  Thy  sweat  and  pain. 
Thy  provocation  on  the  cross? 
Heart-pierced  for  me,  vouchsafe  to  keep 
The  purchase  of  Thy  lavished  Blood  : 
The  gain  is  Thine,  Lord,  if  I  gain; 
Or,  if  I  lose,  Thine  own  the  loss. 

At  midnight,  saith  the  Parable, 

A  cry  was  made,  the  Bridegroom  came; 

Those  who  were  ready  entered  in : 
The  rest,  shut  out  in  death  and  shame. 
Strove  all  too  late  that  feast  to  win. 
Their  die  was  cast,  and  fixed  their  lot; 
A  gulf  divided  heaven  from  hell; 

The  Bridegroom  said  —  I  know  you  not. 

But  Who  is. this  that  shuts  the  door, 

And  saith  —  I  know  you  not  —  to  them  ? 
I  see  the  wounded  hands  and  side, 
The  brow  thorn-tortured  long  ago : 


26o  THOU  ART  THE  SAME 

Yea,  This  who  grieved  and  bled  and  died, 
This  same  is  He  who  must  condemn; 
He  called,  but  they  refused  to  know; 
So  now  He  hears  their  cry  no  more. 

Circa  1864. 


THOU   ART   THE    SAME   AND   THY    YEARS 
SHALL   NOT   FAIL 

THE  flowers  that  bloom  in  sun  and  shade, 
And  glitter  in  the  dew  — 
The  flowers  must  fade. 
The  birds  that  build  their  nest  and  sing 
When  lovely  Spring  is  new 
Must  soon  take  wing. 

The  sun  that  rises  in  his  strength. 
To  wake  and  warm  the  world. 
Must  set  at  length. 
The  sea  that  overflows  the  shore 
With  billows  frothed  and  curled 
Must  ebb  once  more. 

All  come  and  go,  all  wax  and  wane, 
O  Lord,  save  only  Thou, 
Who  dost  remain 
The  same  to  all  eternity. 
All  things  which  fail  us  now 
We  trust  to  Thee      Amen. 
Circa  188O0 


I 


CARDINAL  NEWMAN  261 


A   CHRISTMAS   CAROL 

WHOSO  hears  a  chiming  for  Christmas  at  the 
Highest 
Hears  a  sound  like  Angels  chanting  in  their  glee, 
Hears  a  sound  like  palm-boughs  waving  in  the  highest, 

Hears  a  sound  like  ripple  of  a  crystal  sea. 
Sweeter  than  a  prayer-bell  for  a  saint  in  dying, 
Sweeter  than  a  death-bell  for  a  saint  at  rest. 
Music  struck  in  heaven,  with  earth's  faint  replying, 
"  Life  is  good  and  death  is  good,  for  Christ  is  best." 

Circa  1886. 


CARDINAL   NEWMAN 

In  the  grave,  whither  thou  goest 

O  WEARY  Champion  of  the  Cross,  lie  still : 
Sleep  thou  at  length  the  all-embracing  sleep: 
Long  was  thy  sowing-day,  rest  now  and  reap : 
Thy  fast  was  long,  feast  now  thy  spirit's  fill. 
Yea  take  thy  fill  of  love,  because  thy  wnll 
Chose  love  not  in  the  shallows  but  the  deep : 
Thy  tides  were  spring-tides,  set  against  the  neap 
Of  calmer  souls :  thy  flood  rebuked  their  rill. 


262      VEA   I  HAVE  A    GOODLY  HERITAGE 

Now  night  has  come  to  thee  —  please  God,  of  rest: 
So  some  time  must  it  come  to  every  man; 

To  first  and  last,  where  many  last  are  first. 
Now  fixed  and  finished  thine  eternal  plan, 

Thy  best  has  done  its  best,  thy  worst  its  worst : 
Thy  best  its  best,  please  God,  thy  best  its  best. 

1 6  August  1890. 


YEA   I    HAVE   A   GOODLY   HERITAGE 

MY  vineyard  that  is  mine  I  have  to  keep, 
Pruning  for  fruit  the  pleasant  twigs  and  leaves. 
Tend  thou  thy  cornfield :  one  day  thou  shalt  reap 
In  joy  thy  ripened  sheaves. 

Or,  if  thine  be  an  orchard,  graft  and  prop 
Food-bearing  trees  each  watered  in  its  place: 

Or,  if  a  garden,  let  it  yield  for  crop 
Sweet  herbs  and  herb  of  grace.  — 

But  if  my  lot  be  sand  where  nothing  grows?  — 
Nay  who  hath  said  it?     Tune  a  thankful  psalm: 

For,  though  thy  desert  bloom  not  as  the  rose. 
It  yet  can  rear  thy  palm. 

Circa  1890. 


A   DEATH   OF  A   FIRST-BORN  263 

A   DEATH   OF   A   FIRST-BORN 
14  January  1892 

ONE  young  life  lost,  two  happy  young  lives  blighted, 
With  earthward  eyes  we  see : 
With  eyes  uplifted,  keener,  farther-sighted, 
We  look,  O  Lord,  to  Thee. 

Grief  hears  a  funeral  knell :  Hope  hears  the  ringing 

Of  birthday  bells  on  high; 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  make  answer  with  soft  singing. 

Half  carol  and  half  cry. 

Stoop  to  console  us,  Christ,  sole  consolation, 

While  dust  returns  to  dust; 
Until  that  blessed  day  when  all  Thy  nation 

Shall  rise  up  of  the  Just. 

Ja7iuary  1892. 


264  FAIXT  YET  PURSUING 


FAINT   YET   PURSUING 


BEYOND  this  shadow  and  this  turbulent  sea, 
Shadow  of  death  and  turbulent  sea  of  death, 
Lies  all  we  long  to  have  or  long  to  be. 

Take  heart,  tired  man,  toil  on  with  lessening  breath, 
Lay  violent  hands  on  heaven's  high  treasury, 

Be  what  you  long  to  be  through  life-long  scathe. 
A  little  while  Hope  leans  on  Charity, 

A  little  while  Charity  heartens  Faith : 
A  little  while:  and  then  what  further  while? 
One  while  that  ends  not  and  that  wearies  not, 
For  ever  new  whilst  evermore  the  same. 
All  things  made  new  bear  each  a  sweet  new  name; 
Man's  lot  of  death  has  turned  to  life  his  lot, 
And  tearful  Charity  to  Love's  own  smile. 


Press  onward,  quickened  souls,  who  mounting  move, 

Press  onward,  upward,  fire  with  mounting  fire; 

Gathering  volume  of  untold  desire. 
Press  upward,  homeward,  dove  with  mounting  dove. 
Point  me  the  excellent  way  that  leads  above; 

^Voo  me  with  sequent  will,  me  too  to  aspire; 

\Vith  sequent  heart  to  follow  higher  and  higher, 
To  follow  all  who  follow  on  to  Love. 


HEAVEN    OVERARCHES 

Up  the  high  steep,  across  the  golden  sill, 
Up  out  of  shadows  into  very  light. 

Up  out  of  dwindling  life  to  life  aglow, 
I  watch  you,  my  beloved,  out  of  sight;  — 
Sight  fails  me,  and  my  heart  is  watching  still: 

My  heart  fails,  yet  I  follow  on  to  know. 
Circa  1892. 


HEAVEN  OVERARCHES 

HEAVEN  overarches  earth  and  sea, 
Earth-sadness  and  sea-bitterness. 
Heaven  overarches  you  and  me : 
A  little  while  and  we  shall  be  — 
Please  God  —  where  there  is  no  more  sea 
Nor  barren  wilderness. 


Heaven  overarches  you  and  me. 

And  all  earth's  gardens  and  her  graves. 
Look  up  with  me,  until  we  see 
The  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee. 
What  though  to-night  wrecks  you  and  me 
If  so  to-morrow  saves? 
Circa  1893. 


ITALIAN     POEMS 


.VERSI 

FIGLIA,  la  Madre  disse, 
Guardati  dall'  Amore: 
E  crudo,  e  traditore  — 

Che  vuoi  saper  di  piu? 
Non  fargli  mai  sperare 
D'  entrare  nel  tuo  petto, 
Che  chi  gli  da  ricetto 
Sempre  tradito  fu. 

CoUa  sua  benda  al  ciglio 
E  un  bel  fanciullo,  e  vero : 
Ma  sempre  e  menzognero, 

Ma  sempre  tradira. 
Semplice  tu  se  fidi 
Nel  riso  suo  fallace; 
Tu  perderai  la  pace, 

Ne  mai  ritornera. 

Ma  vedo  —  gia  sai  stanca 
Del  mio  parlar  prudente; 
Gia  volgi  nella  mente 

II  quando,  il  come,  e  il  chi, 
Odimi :  i  detti  miei 
Gia  sai  se  son  sinceri  — 
E  se  son  falsi  o  veri 

Saprai  per  prova  un  di. 
6  Ottobre  1849. 


270  NIGELLA 


U  INCOGNITA 

NOBIL  rosa  ancor  non  crebbe 
Senza  spine  in  sullo  stelo : 
Se  vi  fosse,  allor  sarebbe 

Atta  immagine  di  te. 
E  la  luna  in  mezzo  al  cielo 
Bella  e  ver  ma  passeggiera : 
Passa  ancor  la  primavera :  — 

Ah  r  immagin  tua  dov'  e? 


Circa  1850. 


Circa  1850- 


NIGELLA 

PURPUREA  rosa, 
Dolce,  odorosa, 
E  molto  bella  — 
Ma  pur  non  e, 
O  mia  Nigella, 
Rival  di  te. 

Donna  nel  velo, 
Fior  sullo  stelo, 
Ciascun  V  amore 

Reclama  a  se; 
Ma  passa  il  fiore  — 

Tu  resti  a  me. 


I 


» 


CHIESA   E  S IGNORE  271 

CHIESA   E   SIGNORE 
La  Chiesa 

VOLA,  preghiera,  e  digli 
Perche  Ti  stai  lontano? 
Passeggi  Tu  frai  gigli 

Portando  rosa  in  mano? 
Non  Ti  fui  giglio  e  rosa 

Quando  mi  amasti  Tu? 
Rivolgiti  alia  sposa, 
O  mio  Signer  Gesu. 

Il  Signore 

Di  te  non  mi  scordai 

Sposa  mia  dolce  e  mesta: 
Se  Mi  sei  rosa  il  sai, 

Che  porto  spine  in  testa. 
Ti  diedi  e  core  e  vita, 

Me  tutto  lo  diedi  a  te, 
Ed  or  ti  porgo  aita : 

Abbi  fidanza  in  Me. 


La  Chiesa 

Vola,  preghiera,  a  Lui, 
E  grida :  Ahi  pazienza ! 


2         IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    OKI  EXT E 

Te  voglio  e  non  altrui, 
Te  senza  e  tutto  senza. 

Flagrante  piu  di  giglio 
E  rosa  a  me  sei  Tu, 

Di  Dio  r  Eterno  Figlio, 
O  mio  Signer  Gesu. 

Circa  i860. 


IL   ROSSEGGIAR   DELL'    ORIENTE 

Canzoniere  all'  Amico  lontano 

I 
Amor  dormexte 

ADDIO,  diletto  amico; 
A  me  non  lece  amore, 
Che  gia  m'  uccise  il  core 
Amato  amante. 
Eppur  per  1'  altra  vita 
Consacro  a  te  speranze; 
Per  questa,  rimembranze 
Tante  e  poi  tante. 
Dicembre  1862. 


I 


/L  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORIENTE        273 


Amor  si  sveglia? 

IN  nuova  primavera 
Rinasce  il  genio  antico; 
Amor  t'  insinua  **Spera"  — 
Pur  io  nol  dico. 

S'  ''Ama"  ti  dice  Amore, 

S'  ei  t'  incoraggia,  amico, 
Giurando  "  E  tuo  quel  core  "  — 
Pur  io  nol  dico. 

Anzi  quel  cor  davvero 

Chi  sa  se  valga  un  fico? 
Lo  credo,  almen  Io  spero; 
Ma  pur  nol  dico. 
Gennaio  1863. 

3 

Si  rbianda  la  tocca-caldaja 


u 


UNGI  da  me  il  pensiere 
D'  ereditar  V  oggetto 
Ch'  una  fiata  in  petto 
Destar  ti  seppe  amor. 
Se  piu  r  usar  non  vuoi, 
Se  pur  fumar  nol  puoi, 
Dolce  ti  sia  dovere 
II  conservarlo  ognor. 


274        IL   ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    ORIENTE 

4 

Blumine  risponde 

S'  10  t'  incontrassi  nell'  eterna  pace, 
Pace  non  piu,  per  me  saria  diletto; 

S'  io  t'  incontrassi  in  cerchio  maledetto, 
Te  piu  di  me  lamenterei  verace. 
Per  te  mia  vita  mezzo  morta  giace, 

Per  te  le  notti  veglio  e  bagno  il  letto : 

Eppur  di  rivederti  un  di  m'  aspetto 
In  secol  che  riman,  non  che  in  fugace. 
E  percio  "Fuggi  "  io  dico  al  tempo;  e  omai 

"Passa  pur"  dico  al  vanitoso  mondo. 
Mentre  mi  sogno  quel  che  dici  e  fai 

Ripeto  in  me,  ^*  Doman  sara  giocondo, 
Doman  sarem  "  —  ma  s'  ami  tu  Io  sai, 

E  se  non  ami  a  che  mostrarti  il  fondo? 

Gennaio  1867. 


5 

Lassu  fia  caro  il  rivederci 

DOLCE  cor  mio  perduto  e  non  perduto, 
Dolce  mia  vita  che  mi  lasci  in  morte, 
Amico  e  piu  che  amico,  ti  saluto. 

Ricordati  di  me;  che  cieche  e  corte 
Fur  le  speranze  mie,  ma  furon  tue : 
Non  disprezzar  questa  mia  dura  sorte. 


IL   ROSSEGGIAR   DELL    ORIEXTE         275 

Lascia  ch'  io  dica  **Le  speranze  sue 

Come  le  mie  languiro  in  questo  inverno  "  — 
Pur  mi  rassegnero,  quel  che  fue  fue. 

Lascia  ch'  io  dica  ancor,  *'  Con  lui  discerno 
Giorno  che  spunta  da  gelata  sera, 

Lungo  cielo  al  di  la  di  breve  inferno, 
Al  di  la  deir  inverno  primavera." 

Gennaio  1867. 


Non  son  io  la  rosa  ma  vi  stetti  appresso 

CASA  felice  ove  piu  volte  omai 
Siede  il  mio  ben  parlando  e  ancor  ridendo, 

Donna  felice  che  con  lui  sedendo 
Lo  allegri  pur  con  quanto  dici  e  fai, 
Giardin  felice  dove  passeggiai 

Pensando  a  lui,  pensando  e  non  dicendo,  — 

Giorno  felice  fia  quand'  io  mi  rendo 
Laddove  passeggiando  a  lui  pensai. 

Ma  s'  egli  vi  sara  quand'  io  vi  torno, 

S'  egli  m'  accoglie  col  suo  dolce  riso, 
Ogni  uccelletto  cantera  dintorno, 

La  rosa  arrossira  nel  vago  viso :  — 
Iddio  ci  dia  in  eternita  quel  giorno, 

Ci  dia  per  quel  giardino  il  paradiso. 
Apr  He  1867. 


276        IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELD    ORIENTE 


Lassuso  il  caro  Fiore 

SE  t'  insegnasse  Iddio 
II  proprio  Amor  cosi, 
Ti  cederei,  cor  mio, 
Al  caro  Fiore. 
II  caro  Fior  ti  chiama, 

"  Fammi  felice  un  di  " ;  - 
II  caro  Fior  che  t'  ama 
Ti  chiede  amore. 

Quel  Fiore  in  paradiso 

Fiorisce  ognor  per  te; 
Si,  rivedrai  quel  viso, 

Sarai  contento: 
Intorno  al  duol  ch'  e  stato 
Domanderai  **Dov'  e?" 
Che  passera  il  passato 
In  un  momento. 

Ed  io  per  tanta  vista 

In  tutta  eternita, 
Io  qual  Giovan  Battista 

Lodero  Dio : 
L'Amata  tanto  amata 

Tuo  guiderdon  sara, 
E  r  alma  tua  salvata 
Sarammi  il  mioo 
Apr  He  1867. 


I 


IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORIENTE        277 


Sapessi  pure 


CHE  fai  lontan  da  me, 
Che  fai,  cor  mio? 
Quel  che  face'  io 
E  ch'  ognor  penso  a  te. 

Pensando,  a  te  sorrido, 
Sospiro  a  te : 
E  tu  lontan  da  me 

Tu  pur  sei  fido? 

Maggio  1867. 


9 

Iddio  c'  illumini 

QUANDO  il  tempo  awerra  che  partiremo 
Ciascun  di  noi  per  separata  via, 
Momento  che  verra,  momento  estremo 
Quando  che  fia : 

Calcando  1'  uno  inusitata  traccia, 

Seguendo  1'  altro  il  solito  suo  corse, 
Non  ci  nasca  in  quel  di  vergogna  in  faccia 
Ne  in  sen  rimorso. 


278         IL  ROSSEGGIAR   DELL'    ORLENTE 

Sia  che  tu  vada  pria  forte  soletto, 

O  sia  ch'  io  ti  preceda  in  quel  sentiero, 
Deh  ricordiamci  allor  d'  averci  detto 
Pur  sempre  il  vero. 

Quanto  t'  amavo  e  quanto !  e  non  dovea 
Esprimer  quell'  amor  che  ti  portavo: 
Piu  ma  assai  piu  di  quel  che  non  dicea 
Nel  cuor  ti  amavo. 

Piu  di  felicita,  piu  di  speranza; 

Di  vita  non  diro,  che  e  poca  cosa: 
Dolce-amaro  tu  fosti  in  rimembranza 
A  me  gelosa. 

Ma  a  me  tu  preferisti  la  virtude, 

La  veritade,  amico :  e  non  saprai 
Chi  amasti  alfin?     Soltanto  il  fior  si  schiude 
D'  un  sole  ai  rai. 

Se  piu  di  me  la  Veritade  amasti, 

Gesu  fu  quel  tuo  sconosciuto  Amore :  — 
Gesu,  che  sconosciuto  a  lui  parlasti, 
Vincigli  il  core. 
Maggio  1867. 


IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    ORIENTE        279 

10 

Amicizia 
Sirocchia  son  d'  Amor 

VENGA  Amicizia  e  sia  la  benvenuta, 
Venga,  ma  non  percio  sen  parta  Amore : 
Abitan  1'  uno  e  1'  altra  in  gentil  core 
Che  albergo  ai  pellegrini  non  rifiuta. 
Ancella  questa  docile  e  compiuta, 
E  quel  tiranno  no  ma  pio  signore : 
Regni  egli  occulto  ne  si  mostri  fuore, 
Essa  si  sveli  in  umilta  dovuta. 
Oggi  ed  ancor  doman  per  V  amicizia, 
E  posdomani  ancor  se  pur  si  vuole, 

Che  dolci  cose  apporta  e  non  amare : 
E  venga  poi,  ma  non  con  luna  o  sole, 
Giorno  d'  amor,  giorno  di  gran  delizia, 

Giorno  che  spunta  non  per  tramontare. 
Agosto  1867. 

II 

Luscious  and  sorrowful 

UCCELLO  delle  rose  e  del  dolore, 
Uccel  d'  amore, 
Felice  ed  infelice,  quel  tuo  canto 

E  riso  o  pianto? 
Fido  air  infido,  tieni  in  freddo  lido 
Spina  per  nido. 
Agosto  1867. 


8o         IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORLENTE 

12 

O  forza  irresistible 
Dell^  umile  preghiera 

CHE  Ti  daro,  Gesu  Signer  mio  buono? 
Ah  quelle  ch'  amo  piu,  quelle  Ti  dono: 
Accettalo,  Signer  Gesu  mie  Die, 
II  sel  mie  dolce  amor,  anzi  il  cer  mio; 
Accettalo  per  Te,  siati  prezieso; 
Accettalo  per  me,  salva  il  mie  speso. 
Nen  ho  che  lui.  Signer,  nel  disprezzare, 
Care  tienlo  nel  cer  fra  cose  care. 
Ricerdati  del  di  che  sulla  crece 
Pregavi  Iddio  cosi,  con  flebil  voce. 
Con  anelante  cor :  "  Queste  che  fanno, 
Padre,  perdona  lor,  ch'  essi  nen  sanno/* 
Ei  pur.  Signer,  nen  sa  Quelle  che  sdegna, 
Ei  pure  T'  amera  s'  uno  gl'  insegna. 
Se  tutto  quanto  appar,  che  a  Te  nen  piace, 
Fugace  spuma  in  mar,  nebbia  fugace; 
Successo  o  avversita,  contento  o  duolo, 
Se  tutto  e  vanita  fuorche  Tu  solo; 
Se  chi  nen  prega  Te  nel  vuote  chiama; 
Se  amore  amor  nen  e  che  Te  nen  ama;  — 
Dona  Te  stesso  a  nei,  ricchi  sareme; 
Poi  nega  quanto  vuei,  che  tutto  avremo : 
Di  mel  piu  dolce  Tu,  che  ben  ci  basti; 
D'  amore  amabil  piu,  Tu  che  ci  amasti. 
Settembre  1867. 


IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    ORIENTE 

FiNESTRA     ]\IlA    OrIENTALE 

[In  Malattia] 

VOLGO  la  faccia  verso  1'  oriente, 
Verso  il  meriggio,  ove  colui  dimora :  — 

Ben  fai  che  vivi  ai  lati  dell'  aurora; 
Chi  teco  vive  par  felice  gente. 
Volgo  verso  di  te  1'  occhio  languente, 

Lo  spirito  che  teme  e  spera  ancora; 

Volgiti  verso  quella  che  ti  onora, 
T'  ama,  ti  brama,  in  core  e  colla  mente. 
Debole  e  stanca  verso  te  mi  volgo : 

Che  sara  mai  questo  che  sento,  amico? 
Ogni  cara  memoria  tua  raccolgo,  — 

Quanto  dirti  vorrei !  ma  pur  nol  dico. 
Lungi  da  te  dei  giorni  me  ne  dolgo : 

Fossimo  insieme  in  bel  paese  aprico ! 

Fossimo  insieme ! 
Che  importerebbe 

U'  si  facesse 

II  nostro  nido? 
Cielo  sarebbe 

Quasi  quel  lido. 

Ah  fossi  teco, 

Col  cor  ben  certo 


282         IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORLENTE 

D'  essere  amato 
Come  vorrebbe  1 

Si  che  il  deserto 
S'  infiorirebbe. 
Ottobre  1867. 


14 

Eppure  allora  venivi 

TEMPO  tardo  e  amaro !  - 
Quando  verrai,  cor  mio, 
Qiiando,  ma  quando? 
Siccome  a  me  sei  caro 
Se  cara  a  te  foss'  io, 
Ti  andrei  cercando? 

Febbrajo  1 868. 


O 


15 

Per  Preferenza 

FELICE  la  tua  madre, 
Le  suore  tue  felici, 
Che  senton  quanto  dici, 
Che  vivono  con  te, 
Che  t'  amano  di  dritto 
D'  amor  content©  e  saggio: 
Pur  questo  lor  vantaggio 
Non  lo  vorrei  per  me. 


IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORIENTE        283 

Quel  grave  aspetto  tuo 
Veder  di  quando  in  quando, 
Frattanto  andar  pensando 

^^Un  giorno  riverra"; 
Ripeter  nel  mio  core 
(Qual  rosa  e  senza  spine?) 
**Ei  sa  che  1'  amo  alfine  — 

M'  ama  egli  ancor?  "     Chi  sa! 

E  questo  assai  piu  dolce 
Deir  altro,  al  parer  mio: 
Essere  in  ver  desio 

O  tutto  o  nulla  ^  a  te; 
Ne  troppo  vo'  lagnarmi 
Ch'  or  stai  da  me  diviso, 
Se  un  giorno  in  Paradiso 

Festeggerai  con  me. 
Marzo  1868. 


16 

Oggi 


m  X)OSSIBIL  non  sarebbe 


Ch'  io  non  t'  amassi,  O  Caro: 
Chi  mai  si  scorderebbe 
Del  proprio  core? 

1  Ma  no;   se  non  amante  siimi  amico : 
Quel  ch'  io  saro  per  te  non  tel  predico. 


284        /^  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL'    ORIENTE 

Se  amaro  il  dolce  fai, 

Dolce  mi  fai  1'  amaro; 
Se  qualche  amor  mi  dai, 
Ti  do  r  amore. 


Marzo  1868. 


17 


T' 


^\  do  r  addio, 
Amico  mio, 
Per  settimane 

Che  paion  lunghe : 
Ti  raccomando 
Di  quando  in  quando 
Circoli  quadri, 
Idee  bislunghe. 
Marzo  1868. 

18 

RiPETIZIONE  ■' 

CREDEA  di  rivederti  e  ancor  ti  aspetto;  } 

Di  giorno  in  giorno  ognor  ti  vo  bramando:  j 

Quando  ti  rivedro,  cor  mio  diletto,  { 

Quando  ma  quando?  | 

Dissi  e  ridissi  con  perenne  sete,  ■ 

E  lo  ridico  e  vo'  ridirlo  ancora, 
Qual  usignol  che  canta  e  si  ripete 
Fino  air  aurora. 

Giugno  1868. 


IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    ORIENTE        285 

Amico  e  piu  che  amico  mio 

COR  mio  a  cui  si  volge  1'  altro  mio  core 
Qual  calamita  al  polo,  e  non  ti  trova, 

La  nascita  della  mia  vita  nuova 
Con  pianto  fu,  con  grida,  e  con  dolore. 
Ma  r  aspro  duolo  fummi  precursore 

Di  speranza  gentil  che  canta  e  cova; 

Si,  chi  non  prova  pena  amor  non  prova, 
E  quei  non  vive  che  non  prova  amore. 
O  tu  che  in  Dio  mi  sei,  ma  dopo  Iddio, 

Tutta  la  terra  mia  ed  assai  del  cielo, 

Pensa  se  non  m'  e  duol  disotto  a  un  velo 

Parlarti  e  non  ti  dir  mai  che  ti  bramo :  — 
Dillo  tu  stesso  a  te,  dolce  cor  mio, 

Se  pur  tu  m'  ami  dillo  a  te  ch'  io  t'  amo. 
Agosto  1868. 

20 

Nostre  volunt^  quieti 
Virtu  di  carit^ 

VENTO  gentil  che  verso  il  mezzodi 
Soffiando  vai,  deh  porta  un  mio  sospir, 
Dicendo  ad  Un  quel  che  non  debbo  dir, 
Con  un  sospir  dicendogli  cosi: 
Quella  che  diede  un  "No"  volendo  un  "Si" 
(Volendo  e  non  volendo  —  a  che  ridir?). 


286        IL  ROSSEGGIAR  DELL    ORIENTE 

Quella  ti  manda :  E  vanita  il  fiorir 
Di  questa  vita  che  meniam  costi. 
Odi  che  dice  e  piange :  E  vanita 

Questo  che  nasce  e  muore  amor  mondan; 

Deh  leva  gli  occhi,  io  gli  occhi  vo'  levar, 
Verso  il  reame  dove  non  in  van 

Amasi  Iddio  quanto  ognun  possa  amar 
Ed  il  creato  tutto  in  carita. 

Agosto  1868. 


21 

Se  cosi  fosse 


I 


O  piu  ti  amai  che  non  mi  amasti  tu:  — 

Amen,  se  cosi  voile  Iddio  Signor; 
Amen,  quantunque  mi  si  spezzi  il  cor, 
Signor  Gesu. 


Ma  Tu  che  Ti  ricordi  e  tutto  sal, 
Tu  che  moristi  per  virtu  d'  amor, 
Neir  altro  mondo  donami  quel  cor 
Che  tanto  amai. 
Agosto  1868. 


1 


COR  MIO  287 


V  UOMMIBATTO 

OUOMMIBATTO 
Agil,  giocondo, 
Che  ti  sei  fatto 

Irsuto  e  tondo ! 
Deh  non  fuggire 

Qual  vagabondo, 
Non  disparire 

Forando  il  mondo : 
Pesa  davvero 
D'  un  emisfero 

Non  lieve  il  pondo. 
1869. 


b 


COR   MIO 

COR  mio,  cor  mio, 
Pill  non  ti  veggo,  ma  mi  rammento 
Del  giorno  spento, 
Cor  mio. 
Pur  ti  ricordi  del  lungo  amore, 
Cor  del  mio  core. 
Cor  mio? 
Cii'ca  1870. 


288  NINNA-NANNA 


ADRIANO 


ANIMUCCIA,  vagantuccia,  morbiduccia, 
Oste  del  corpo  e  suora, 
Ove  or  farai  dimora? 
Palliduccia,  irrigidita,  svestituccia, 
Non  piu  scherzante  or  ora. 

1876. 


NINNA-NANNA 


[Angels  at  the  Foot] 

ANGELI  al  capo,  al  piede; 
E  qual  ricciuto  agnello 
Dormir  fra  lor  si  vede 
II  bel  mio  bambinello. 


2 

[Love  me,  I  love  you] 

Amami,  t'  amo, 
Figliolin  mio: 

Cantisi,  suonisi. 
Con  tintinnio. 


NINNA-NANNA  289 

Mamma  t'  abbraccia, 
Cor  suo  ti  chiama; 
Suonisi,  cantisi, 
Ama  chi  t'  ama. 


3 

[My  Baby  has  a  Father  and  a  Mother] 

E  babbo  e  mamma  ha  il  nostro  figliolino, 

Ricco  bambino. 
Ma  ne  conosco  un  altro  senza  padre 

E  senza  madre  — 

II  poverino ! 


4 

[Our  little  Baby  fell  Asleep] 

S'  addormento  la  nostra  figliolina, 

Ne  si  risvegliera 
Per  giorni  e  giorni  assai  sera  o  mattina. 

Ma  poi  si  svegliera, 
E  con  cara  ridente  bocchettina 

Ribacera  Mamma. 


290  NINNA-NANNA 


[KOOKOOROOKOO,  KOOKOOROOKOO] 

Cuccurucu  —  cuccurucu  — 
Air  alba  il  gallo  canta. 

Chicchirichi  —  chicchirichi  — 

Di  rose  il  ciel  s'  ammanta. 
Cuccurucu  —  cuccurucu  — 

Comincia  un  gorgheggiare. 

Chicchirichi  —  chicchirichi  — 

Risalta  il  sol  dal  mare. 

6 

[Baby  Cry] 

Ohibo  piccina 

Tutto  atterrita! 
La  medicina 
Bever  si  de' : 
Uno,  due,  tre, 
Ed  e  finita. 

7 

[Eight  o'clock] 

Otto  ore  suonano  — 


Picchia  il  postino:  ■ 

Ben  cinque  lettere 


Son  per  Papa; 


I 


NINNA-NANNA  291 

Una  per  te, 
Nulla  per  me; 
E  un  bigliettino 
V  e  per  Mamma. 


8 

[Bread  and  Milk  for  Breakfast] 

Nel  verno  accanto  al  fuoco 
Mangio  la  mia  minestra, 
E  al  pettirosso  schiudo  la  finestra, 
Ch'  ei  pur  ne  vuole  un  poco. 

[OVVERO] 

S'  affaccia  un  pettirosso  alia  finestra  — 
Vieni  vieni  a  gustar  la  mia  minestra. 
Lana  ben  foderata  io  porto  addosso, 
Ma  tu  non  porti  die  un  corpetto  rosso. 


[There's  Snow  on  the  Fields] 

Gran  freddo  e  infuori,  e  dentro  e  freddo  un  poco  ; 
Quanto  e  grata  una  zuppa  accanto  al  fuoco ! 

Mi  vesto  di  buon  panno  — 

Ma  i  poveri  non  hanno 
Zuppa  da  bere  e  fuoco  a  cui  sedere, 
O  tetto  o  panni  in  questo  freddo  intenso  — 
Ah  mi  si  stringe  il  cor  mentre  io  ci  penso. 


292  NINNA-NANNA 


lO 


[I  Dug  and  Dug  amongst  the  Snow] 

Scavai  la  neve  —  si  che  scavai  — 
Ma  fior  ne  foglia  spuntava  mai. 
Scavai  la  rena  con  ansia  lena, 
Ma  fior  ne  foglia  spicca  da  rena. 
O  vento  aprico,  con  fiato  lieve 
Sveglia  i  fioretti,  sgela  la  neve! 
Ma  non  soffiare  su  quella  rena : 
Chi  soffia  in  rena  perde  la  lena. 


II 


[Your  Brother  has  a  Falcon] 

Si  che  il  fratello  s'  ha  un  falconcello, 

E  tiene  un  fior  la  suora : 
Ma  che,  ma  che  riman  per  te, 

II  neonato  or  ora? 
Vo'  farti  cocchio  del  mio  ginocchio, 

Minor  mio  figliolino : 
Da  capo  a  pie  ti  stringo  a  me, 

Minimo  piccino. 


NINNA-NANNA  293 

12 

[Hear  what  the  mournful  Linnets  say] 

Udite,  si  dolgono  mesti  fringuelli :  — 
Bel  nido  facemmo  per  cari  gemelli, 
Ma  tre  ragazzacci  lo  misero  in  stracci. 
Fuggi  primavera,  s'imbruna  la  sera, 
E  tempo  ci  manca  da  fare  un  secondo 
Niduncolo  tondo. 

[A  Baby's  Cradle  with  no  Baby  in  it] 

Ahi  culla  vuota  ed  ahi  sepolcro  pieno 
Ove  le  smunte  foglie  autunno  getta! 
Lo  spirto  aspetta  in  paradiso  ameno, 
II  corpo  in  terra  aspetta. 


14 

[O  Wind  why  do  you  never  Rest?] 

Lugubre  e  vagabondo  in  terra  e  in  mare, 
O  vento,  O  vento,  a  che  non  ti  posare? 
Ci  trai  la  pioggia  fin  dall'  occidente, 
E  la  neve  ci  trai  dal  nord  fremente. 


294  NINNA-NANNA 

IS 

[O  Wind  where  have  you  been?] 

"Aura  dolcissima,  ma  dondo  siete?" 

"Dinfra  le  mammole  —  non  lo  sapete? 

Abbassi  il  viso  ad  adocchiar  1'  erbetta 

Chi  vuol  trovar  V  ascosa  mammoletta. 

La  madreselva  il  dolce  caldo  aspetta: 

Tu  addolci  un  freddo  mondo,  O  mammoletta." 


i6 

[If  I  WERE  A  Queen] 

"Foss'  io  regina, 
Tu  re  saresti : 
Davanti  a  te 

M'  inchinerei." 
"Ah  foss'  io  re! 
Tu  lo  vedresti : 
Si  che  regina 

Mi  ti  farei." 


NINNA-NANNA  295 

17 

[What  are  heavy?     Sea-saxd  .and  Sorrow] 

Pesano  rena  e  pena: 
Oggi  e  doman  son  brevi : 
La  gioventude  e  un  fior  son  cose  lievi : 
Ed  han  profondita 
]\lar  magno  e  magna  verita. 

18 

[A  Toadstool  comes  up  in  a  Night] 

Basta  una  notte  a  maturare  il  fungo; 

Un  secol  vuol  la  querela,  e  non  par  lungo : 

Anzi  il  secolo  breve  e  il  vesprolungo, 

Che  quercia  e  quercia,  e  fungo  e  sempre  fungo. 

[If  a  Pig  wore  a  Wig] 

"Porco  la  zucca  fitta  in  parrucca !  . 

Che  gli  diresti  mai?  " 
"M'  inchinerei,  1'  ossequierei  — 

^Ser  Porco,  come  stai?  '  " 
"  Ahi  guai  per  caso  mai 
Se  la  coda  andasse  a  male?  "... 
*^Sta  tranquillo  —  buon  legale 
Gli  farebbe  un  codicillo." 


296  NINNA-NANNA 

20 

[Hopping  Frog,  hop  here  and  be  seen] 

Salta,  ranocchio,  e  mostrati; 

Non  celo  pietra  in  mano : 
Merletto  in  testa  e  verde  vesta, 

Vattene  salvo  e  sano. 
Rospo  lordo,  deh  non  celarti : 
Tutto  il  mondo  puo  disprezzarti. 
Ma  mal  non  fai  ne  mal  vo'  farti. 

21 

[Where  innocent  bright-eyed  Daisies  are] 

Spunta  la  margherita 
Qual  astro  in  sullo  stelo, 

E  r  erbetta  infiorita 

Rassembra  un  verde  cielo. 

22 

[A  motherless  soft  Lambkinj 

Agnellina  orfanellina 
Giace  in  cima  alia  collina, 
Fredda,  sola,  senza  madre, 

Senza  madre  ohime ! 
lo  sarotti  e  madre  e  padre, 
lo  saro  tua  pastorella; 
Non  tremar,  diletta  agnella, 

lo  ci  penso  a  te. 


NINNA-NANNA  297 

23 

[When  Fishes  set  Umbrellas  up] 

Amico  pesce,  piover  vorra; 
Prendi  1'  ombrello  se  vuoi  star  secco. 
Ed  ecco ! 
Domani  senza  fallo  si  vedra 

Lucertolon  zerbino 
Ripararsi  dal  sol  coU'  ombrellino. 


24 

[A  Ring  upon  her  Finger] 

Sposa  velata, 

Inanellata, 

Mite  e  sommessa: 

Sposo  rapito, 

Insuperbito, 
Accanto  ad  essa. 
Amici,  amori, 

Cantando  a  coro, 

Davanti  a  loro 
Spargete  fiori. 


298  NINNA-NANNA 

25 
[The  Horses  of  the  Sea] 

Cavalli  marittimi 

Urtansi  in  guerra, 
E  meglio  ci  servono 

Quelli  di  terra. 
Questi  pacific! 

Corrono  o  stanno; 
Quei  rotolandosi 

Spumando  vanno. 

26 

[O  Sailor,  come  Ashore] 

''O  marinaro,  che  mi  apporti  tu?" 
"Coralli  rossi  e  bianchi  tratti  in  su 

Dal  mar  profondo. 
Pianti  non  son  ne  si  scavar  da  mina: 
Minime  creature  in  salsa  brina 
Fecerne  mondo." 

27 

[The  Rose  with  such  a  bonny  Blush] 

Arrossice  la  rosa  —  e  perche  mai  ? 
A  cagione  del  sol:  ma,  sol,  che  fai? 

E  tu,  rosa,  che  t'  hai 
Che  ti  fai  rosea  si  se  bene  stai? 


NINNA-NANNA  299 

28 
[The  Rose  that  blushes  rosy  Red] 

La  rosa  china  il  volte  rosseggiato, 

E  bene  fa: 
II  giglio  innalza  il  vise  immacolato, 

E  ben  gli  sta. 

29 

[Oh  fair  to  see] 

O  ciliegia  infiorita, 
La  bianco-rivestita, 

Bella  sei  tu. 
O  ciliegia  infruttata, 
La  verde-inghirlandata, 
La  rosso-incoronata, 

Bella  sei  tu. 

30 

[Good-bye  in  Fear,  Good-bye  in  Sorrow] 

"  In  tema  e  in  pena  addio, 
Addio  ma  in  van,  tu  sai; 
Per  sempre  addio,  cor  mio." 

"E  poi  piu  mai." 
"  Oggi  e  domani  addio, 

Nel  secolo  de'  guai 
A  tutto  tempo  addio." 
"E  poi  piu  mai." 


300  NINNA-NANNA 

[Baby  lies  so  fast  Asleep] 

D'  un  sonno  profondissimo 

Dorme  la  suora  mia : 
Gli  angeli  bianchi  aligeri 

Verranno  a  trarla  via? 
In  sonno  profondissimo 

Calma  e  contenta  giace : 
Un  fiore  in  man  lasciamole, 

Un  bacio  in  f ronte  —  e  pace. 


32 

[Lullaby  oh  Lullaby] 

Ninna-nanna,  ninna-nanna, 

Giace  e  dorme  V  agnellina. 
Ninna-nanna,  ninna-nanna, 

jMonna  Luna  s'  incammina. 
Ninna-nanna,  ninna-nanna, 

Tace  e  dorme  V  uccellino. 
Ninna-nanna,  ninna-nanna, 

Dormi,  dormi,  o  figliolino. 
Ninna-nanna,  ninna-nanna. 


NINNA-NANNA  301 


[Lie  a-bed] 

Capo  che  chinasi, 
Occhi  che  chiudonsi  ■ 
A  letto,  a  letto, 
Sonnacchiosetto ! 
Dormi,  carino, 
Fino  al  mattino,  — 
Dormi,  carino. 

Circa  1879. 


302  SOGNANDO 


SOGNANDO 


NE'  sogni  ti  veggo, 
Amante  ed  amico ; 
Ai  piedi  ti  seggo, 

Ti  tengo  tuttor. 
Ne  chiedi  ne  chieggo, 
Ne  dici  ne  dico, 
L'  amore  ab  antico 
Che  scaldaci  il  cor. 
Ah  voce  se  avessi 

Me  stessa  a  scoprire  — 
Ah  esprimer  sapessi 

L'  angoscia  e  1'  amor  J 
Ah  almen  se  potessi 
A  lungo  dormire, 
Ne  pianger  ne  dire, 
Mirandoti  ognor! 


Circa  1890. 


1 


JUVENILIA 


TO   MY   MOTHER 

On  the  Anniversary  of  her  Birth 

(Presented  with  a  Nosegay) 

TO-DAY'S  your  natal  day; 
Sweet  flowers  I  bring; 
Mother,  accept  I  pray 

My  offering. 

And  may  you  happy  live, 

And  long  us  bless; 
Receiving  as  you  give 

Great  happiness. 

27  April  I  S4.2. 


T 


HYMN 

^O  the  God  who  reigns  on  high. 
To  the  Eternal  Majesty, 
To  the  Blessed  Trinity, 
Glory  on  earth  be  given. 
In  the  sea  and  in  the  sky. 
And  in  the  highest  heaven. 
2/uly  1843. 


3o6  ON  ALBINA 

LOVE  AND   HOPE 


L' 


OVE  for  ever  dwells  in  heaven,  — 
Hope  entereth  not  there. 
To  despairing  man  Love's  given,  — 
Hope  dwells  not  with  despair. 
Love  reigneth  high,  and  reigneth  low,  and  reigneth 
everywhere. 

In  the  inmost  heart  Love  dwelleth,  — 

It  may  not  quenched  be; 
E'en  when  the  life  blood  welleth. 
Its  fond  effects  we  see 
In  the  name  that  leaves  the  lips  the  last  —  fades  last 
from  memory. 

And  when  we  shall  awaken. 

Ascending  to  the  sky. 
Though  Hope  shall  have  forsaken, 
Sweet  Love  shall  never  die : 
For  perfect  Love  and  perfect  bliss  shall  be  our  lot  on 
high. 
9  October  1843. 


ON    ALBINA 

^HE  roses  lingered  in  her  cheeks 
When  fair  Albina  fainted; 
O  gentle  reader,  could  it  be 
That  fair  Albina  painted? 
June  1844. 


T 


CHARITY  307 


FORGET  ME  NOT 

FORGET  me  not,  forget  me  not!  " 
The  maiden  once  did  say, 
When  to  some  far-off  battlefield 
Her  lover  sped  away. 

"  Forget  me  not,  forget  me  not !  " 
Says  now  the  chamber-maid, 

When  the  traveller  on  his  journey 
No  more  will  be  delayed. 

19  August  1844. 


CHARITY 

I  PRAISED  the  myrtle  and  the  rose, 
At  sunrise  in  their  beauty  lying : 
I  passed  them  at  the  short  day's  close. 
And  both  were  dying. 

The  summer  sun  his  rays  was  throwing 

Brightly :  yet  ere  I  sought  my  rest 
His  last  cold  ray,  more  deeply  glowing, 
Died  in  the  west. 


3o8  EARTH  AND  HEAVEN 

After  this  bleak  world's  stormy  weather, 

All,  all,  save  Love  alone,  shall  die; 
For  Faith  and  Hope  shall  merge  together 
In  Charity. 
20  Septetnber  1844. 

(The  foregoing  verses  are  imitated  from  that  beautiful  little 
poem  Virtue^  by  George  Herbert.) 


EARTH   AND   HEAVEN 

WATER  calmly  flowing, 
Sunlight  deeply  glowing. 
Swans  some  river  riding 
That  is  gently  gliding 
By  the  fresh  green  rushes, 
The  sweet  rose  that  blushes, 
Hyacinths  whose  dower 
Is  both  scent  and  flower, 
Skylark's  soaring  motion, 
Sunrise  from  the  ocean. 
Jewels  that  lie  sparkling 
'Neath  the  waters  darkling, 
Seaweed,  coral,  amber. 
Flowers  that  climb  and  clamber 
Or  more  lowly  flourish 
Where  the  earth  may  nourish : 
All  these  are  beautiful. 
Of  beauty  earth  is  full: 


LOVE  EPHEMERAL  309 

Say,  to  our  promised  heaven 
Can  greater  charms  be  given? 
Yes,  for  aye  in  heaven  doth  dwell, 
Glowing,  indestructible, 
What  here  below  finds  tainted  birth 
In  the  corrupted  sons  of  earth : 
For,  filling  there  and  satisfying 
Man's  soul  unchanging  and  undying. 
Earth's  fleeting  joys  and  beauties  far  above, 
In  heaven  is  Love. 
28  December  1844. 


LOVE   EPHEMERAL 

LOVE  is  sweet,  and  so  are  flowers 
Blooming  in  bright  summer  bowers; 
So  are  waters,  clear  and  pure. 
In  some  hidden  fountain's  store; 
So  is  the  soft  southern  breeze 
Sighing  low  among  the  trees; 
So  is  the  bright  queen  of  heaven 
Reigning  in  the  quiet  even. 
Yet  the  pallid  moon  may  breed 
Madness  in  man's  feeble  seed; 
And  the  wind's  soft  influence 
Often  breathes  the  pestilence; 


310  BURIAL   ANTHEM 

And  the  waves  may  sullied  be 
As  they  hurry  to  the  sea; 
Flowers  soon  must  fade  away : 
Love  endures  but  for  a  day. 

25  February  1845. 


BURIAL  ANTHEM 

FLESH  of  our  flesh,  bone  of  our  bone  — 
For  thou  and  we  in  Christ  are  one  — 
Thy  soul  unto  its  rest  hath  flown 
And  thou  hast  left  us  all  alone 

Our  weary  race  to  run 
In  doubt  and  want  and  sin  and  pain, 
Whilst  thou  wilt  never  sin  again. 
For  us  remaineth  heaviness; 
Thou  never  more  shalt  feel  distress,  — 

For  thou  hast  found  repose 
Beside  the  bright  eternal  river, 
That  clear  and  pure  flows  on  for  ever 

And  sings  as  on  it  flows. 
And  it  is  better  far  for  thee 

To  reach  at  once  thy  rest 
Than  share  with  us  earth's  misery 

Or  tainted  joy  at  best. 
Brother,  we  will  not  mourn  for  thee. 

Although  our  hearts  be  weary 


SUMMER  311 

Of  struggling  with  our  enemy 

When  all  around  is  dreary: 
But  we  will  pray  that  still  we  may 
Press  onward  in  the  narrow  way, 
With  a  calm  thankful  resignation, 
And  joy  in  this  our  desolation; 
And  we  will  hope  at  length  to  be 
With  our  Great  Head  —  and,  friend,  with  thee  — 

Beside  that  river  blest. 
3  March  1845. 


SUMMER 

HARK  to  the  song  of  greeting !     The  tall  trees 
Murmur  their  welcome  in  the  southern  breeze; 
Amid  the  thickest  foliage  many  a  bird 
Sits  singing,  their  shrill  matins  scarcely  heard 

One  by  one,  but  all  together 

Welcoming  the  sunny  w^eather; 

In  every  bower  hums  a  bee 

Fluttering  melodiously: 

Murmurs  joy  in  every  brook. 

Rippling  wdth  a  pleasant  look : 

What  greet  they  w-ith  their  guileless  bliss? 

What  welcome  with  a  song  like  this? 

See  in  the  south  a  radiant  form. 
Her  fair  head  crowned  with  roses; 


312  SUMMER 

From  her  bright  footpath  flies  the  storm; 

Upon  her  breast  reposes 
Many  an  unconfined  tress, 
Golden,  glossy,  motionless. 
Face  and  form  are  love  and  light, 
Soft  ineffably,  yet  bright. 
All  her  path  is  strewn  with  flowers; 
Round  her  float  the  laughing  Hours; 
Heaven  and  Earth  make  joyful  din, 
Welcoming  sweet  Summer  in. 


And  now  she  alights  on  the  earth 

To  play  with  her  children  the  flowers; 
She  touches  the  stems,  and  the  buds  have  birth, 

And  gently  she  trains  them  in  bowers. 
And  the  bees  and  the  birds  are  glad, 

And  the  wind  catches  warmth  from  her  breath, 
And  around  her  is  nothing  sad 

Nor  any  traces  of  death. 
See  now  she  lays  her  down 
With  roses  for  her  crown. 
With  jessamine  and  myrtle 
Forming  her  fragrant  kirtle. 
Conquered  by  softest  slumbers. 
No  more  the  hours  she  numbers  — 
The  hours  that  intervene 

Ere  she  may  wing  her  flight 
Far  from  this  smiling  scene 

With  all  her  love  and  light, 


SUMMER 

And  leave  the  flowers  and  the  summer  bowers 
To  wither  in  autumn  and  winter  hours. 

And  must  they  wither  then? 
Their  life  and  their  perfume 

Sinking  so  soon  again 
Into  their  earthy  tomb. 
Let  us  bind  her  as  she  lies 
Ere  the  fleeting  moment  flies, 
Hand  and  foot  and  arm  and  bosom, 
With  a  chain  of  bud  and  blossom; 
Twine  red  roses  round  her  hands; 
Round  her  feet  twine  myrtle  bands. 
Heap  up  flowers,  higher,  higher,  — 
Tulips  like  a  glowing  fire. 
Clematis  of  milky  whiteness. 
Sweet  geraniums'  varied  brightness. 
Honeysuckle,  commeline, 
Roses,  myrtles,  jessamine; 
Heap  them  higher,  bloom  on  bloom, 
Bury  her  as  in  a  tomb. 

But  alas  they  are  w^ithered  all, 

xA.nd  how  can  dead  flowers  bind  her? 

She  pushes  aw^ay  her  pall. 

And  she  leaves  the  dead  behind  her : 

And  she  flies  across  the  seas. 
To  gladden  for  a  time 

The  blossoms  and  the  bees 
Of  some  far-distant  clime. 

4  December  1845. 


313 


314  SERENADE 


SERENADE 

COME,  wander  forth  with  me :  the  orange  flowers 
Breathe    faintest    perfume    from    the    summer 
bowers. 
Come,  wander  forth  with  me ;  the  moon  on  high 
Shines  proudly  in  a  flood  of  brilliancy; 

Around  her  car  each  burning  star 

Gleams  like  a  beacon  from  afar. 

The  night  wind  scarce  disturbs  the  sea 

As  it  sighs  forth  so  languidly. 

Laden  with  sweetness  like  a  bee; 

And  all  is  still,  below,  above, 

Save  murmurs  of  the  turtle-dove 

That  murmurs  ever  of  its  love. 

For  now  'tis  the  hour,  the  balmy  hour, 

When  the  strains  of  love  have  chiefly  power; 

When  the  maid  looks  forth  from  her  latticed  bower, 

With  a  gentle  yielding  smile. 

Donning  her  mantle  all  the  while. 

Now  the  moon  beams  down  on  high 

From  her  halo  brilliantly, 

By  the  dark  clouds  unencumbered 

That  once  o'er  her  pale  face  slumbered: 

Far  from  her  mild  rays  flutters  Folly, 

For  on  them  floats  calm  Melancholy;  — 

A  passionless  sadness  without  dread. 

Like  the  thought  of  those  we  love,  long  dead; 


THE  END    OF  TIME  315 

Full  of  hope  and  chastened  joy, 
Heavenly,  without  earth's  alloy. 
Listen,  dearest:  all  is  quiet  — 
Slumbering  the  world's  toil  and  riot; 
And  all  is  fair  in  earth  and  sky  and  sea. 
Come,  wander  forth  with  me. 
4  December  1845. 


THE   END   OF  TIME 


T 


^HOU  who  art  dreary 
With  a  cureless  woe, 
Thou  who  art  weary 
Of  all  things  below. 

Thou  who  art  weeping 
By  the  loved  sick  bed. 

Thou  who  art  keeping 
Watches  o'er  the  dead,  — 
Hope,  hope !  old  Time  flies  fast  upon  his  way, 
And  soon  will  cease  the  night,  and  soon  will  dawn 
the  day. 

The  rose  blooms  brightly, 
But  it  fades  ere  night; 

And  youth  flies  lightly, 
Yet  how  sure  its  flight ! 

And  still  the  river 
Merges  in  the  sea; 


3i6  THE  END    OF  TIME 

And  Death  reigns  ever 
Whilst  old  Time  shall  be;  — 
Vet  hope !  old  Time  flies  fast  upon  his  way, 
And  soon  will  cease  the  night,  and  soon  will  dawn 
the  day. 

All  we  most  cherish 
In  this  world  below, 

What  though  it  perish? 
It  has  aye  been  so. 

So  through  all  ages 
It  has  ever  been, 

To  fools  and  sages. 
Noble  men  and  mean:  — 
Yet  hope,  still  hope  !  for  Time  flies  on  his  way. 
And  soon  will  end  the  night,  and  soon  will   dawn 
the  day. 

All  of  each  nation 
Shall  that  morning  see 

With  exultation 
Or  with  misery : 

From  watery  slumbers, 
From  the  opening  sod. 

Shall  rise  up  numbers 

To  be  judged  by  God. 

Then  hope  and  fear,  for  Time  speeds  on  his  way. 

And  soon  must  end  the  night,  and  soon  must  dawn 

the  day. 
9  December  1845. 


AMORE  E  DOVERE  317 


AMORE   E   DOVERE 

CHIAMI  il  mio  core 
Crudele,  altero: 
No  non  e  vero, 

Crudel  non  h  : 
T'  amo,  t'  amai  — 
E  tu  lo  sai  — 
Men  del  dovere, 
Ma  piu  di  me. 

O  ruscelletto, 

Di  al  Dio  d'  Amore 
Che  questo  petto, 

Che  questo  core, 
A  lui  ricetto 

Pill  non  dara. 
L'  alme  tradisce 

Senza  rimorso; 
Non  compatisce, 

Non  da  soccorso, 
E  si  nudrisce 

Di  crudelta.  — 

T*  intendo,  ti  lagni, 
Mio  povero  core; 
T'  intendo,  1'  Amore 
Si  lagna  di  me. 


31 8  MOTHER  AND    CHILD 

Deh  placati  alfine ! 
Mi  pungon  le  spine 
Che  vengon  da  te. 
1845  ^^  ^847. 


MOTHER  AND   CHILD 

"  \  T  7HAT  art  thou  thinking  of,"  said  the  mother, 

V  V     "  What  art  thou  thinking  of,  my  child?  " 
"I  was  thinking  of  heaven,"  he  answered  her. 
And  looked  up  in  her  face  and  smiled. 

"And  what  didst  thou  think  of  heaven?  "  she  said; 

"Tell  me,  my  little  one." 
"  Oh  I  thought  that  there  the  flowers  never  fade, 

That  there  never  sets  the  sun." 

"  And  wouldst  thou  love  to  go  thither,  my  child, 

Thither  wouldst  thou  love  to  go. 
And  leave  the  pretty  flowers  that  wither. 

And  the  sun  that  sets  below?  " 

"  Oh  I  would  be  glad  to  go  there,  mother. 

To  go  and  live  there  now; 
And  I  would  pray  for  thy  coming,  mother;  — 

My  mother,  wouldst  not  thou?  " 
\o  January  1846. 


ON  TRE  DEATH  OF  A    CAT  319 

ON    THE   DEATH   OF   A   CAT 

A   FRIEND    OF    MINE   AGED    TEN   YEARS    AND   A   HALF 

WHO  shall  tell  the  lady's  grief 
When  her  Cat  was  past  relief? 
Who  shall  number  the  hot  tears 
Shed  o'er  her,  belov'd  for  years? 
Who  shall  say  the  dark  dismay 
Which  her  dying  caused  that  day  ? 

Come,  ye  Muses,  one  and  all, 
Come  obedient  to  my  call; 
Come  and  mourn  with  tuneful  breath 
Each  one  for  a  separate  death; 
And,  while  you  in  numbers  sigh, 
I  will  sing  her  elegy. 

Of  a  noble  race  she  came. 
And  Grimalkin  was  her  name. 
Young  and  old  full  many  a  mouse 
Felt  the  prowess  of  her  house; 
Weak  and  strong  full  many  a  rat 
Cowered  beneath  her  crushing  pat; 
And  the  birds  around  the  place 
Shrank  from  her  too  close  embrace. 
But  one  night,  reft  of  her  strength, 
She  lay  down  and  died  at  length : 


320  LOVE  ATTACKED 

Lay  a  kitten  by  her  side 
In  whose  life  the  mother  died. 
Spare  her  line  and  lineage, 
Guard  her  kitten's  tender  age, 
And  that  kitten's  name  as  wide 
Shall  be  known  as  hers  that  died. 
And  whoever  passes  by 
The  poor  grave  where  Puss  doth  lie, 
Softly,  softly  let  him  tread, 
Nor  disturb  her  narrow  bed. 
14  March  1846. 


LOVE   ATTACKED 

LOVE  is  more  sweet  than  flowers, 
But  sooner  dying; 
Warmer  than  sunny  hours, 
But  faster  flying; 

Softer  than  music  whispers, 

Springing  with  day. 
To  murmur  till  the  vespers. 

Then  die  away; 

More  kind  than  friendship's  greeting, 

But  as  untrue; 
Brighter  than  hope,  but  fleeting 

More  swiftly  too. 


LOVE  ATTACKED  321 

Like  breath  of  summer  breezes 

Gently  it  sighs, 
But  soon  alas  one  ceases, 

The  other  dies : 


And  like  an  inundation 

It  leaves  behind 
An  utter  desolation 

Of  heart  and  mind. 

Who  then  would  court  Love's  presence, 

If  here  below 
It  can  but  be  the  essence 

Of  restless  woe  ? 

Returned  or  unrequited, 

'Tis  still  the  same; 
The  flame  was  never  lighted, 

Or  sinks  the  flame. 

Yet  all,  both  fools  and  sages. 

Have  felt  its  power. 
In  distant  lands  and  ages, — 

Here,  at  this  hour. 

Then  what  from  fear  and  weeping 

Shall  give  me  rest? 
Oh  tell  me,  ye  who  sleeping 

At  length  are  blest! 

Y 


322  LOVE  DEFENDED 

In  answer  to  my  crying, 
Sounds  like  incense 

Rose  from  the  earth,  replying, 
'*  Indifference. '^ 

21  April  1846. 


LOVE   DEFENDED 

WHO  extols  a  wilderness? 
Who  hath  praised  indifference  ? 
Foolish  one,  thy  words  are  sweet, 
But  devoid  of  sense. 

As  the  man  who  ne'er  hath  seen, 
Or  as  he  w^ho  cannot  hear. 
Is  the  heart  that  hath  no  part 
In  Love's  hope  and  fear. 

True,  the  blind  do  not  perceive 
The  unsightly  things  around ; 
True,  the  deaf  man  trembleth  not 
At  an  awful  sound. 

But  the  face  of  heaven  and  earth, 
And  the  murmur  of  the  main. 
Surely  are  a  recompense 
For  a  little  pain. 


THE  MARTYR  323 

So,  though  Love  may  not  be  free 
Always  from  a  taint  of  grief, 
If  its  sting  is  very  sharp, 
Great  is  its  relief. 

23  April  1846. 


THE    MARTYR 

SEE,  the  sun  hath  risen  — 
Lead  her  from  the  prison; 
She  is  young  and  tender,  — lead  her  tenderly: 
May  no  fear  subdue  her. 
Lest  the  saints  be  fewer  — 
Lest  her  place  in  heaven  be  lost  eternally. 

Forth  she  came,  not  trembling, 

No  nor  yet  dissembling 
An  o'erwhelming  terror  w^eighing  her  down,  down; 

Little,  little  heeding 

Earth,  but  inly  pleading 
For  the  strength  to  triumph  and  to  win  a  crown. 

All  her  might  was  rallied 

To  her  heart;  not  pallid 
Was  her  cheek,  but  glowing  with  a  glorious  red; 

Glorious  red  and  saintly. 

Never  paling  faintly. 
But  still  flushing,  kindling  still,  without  thought  of 
dread. 


324  THE  MARTYR 

On  she  went,  on  faster, 

Trusting  in  her  ^Master, 
Feeling  that  His  eye  watched  o'er  her  lovingly; 

He  would  prove  and  try  her, 

But  would  not  deny  her 
When  her  soul  had  past,  for  His  sake,  patiently. 

"Christ,"  she  said,  "receive  me, — 

Let  no  terrors  grieve  me,  — 
Take  my  soul  and  guard  it  with  Thy  heavenly  cares : 

Take  my  soul  and  guard  it,  — 

Take  it  and  reward  it 
With  the  love  Thou  bearest  for  the  love  it  bears." 

Quickened  with  a  fire 

Of  sublime  desire. 
She  looked  up  to  heaven,  and  she  cried  aloud : 

"  Death,  I  do  entreat  thee, 

Come  !  I  go  to  meet  thee; 
Wrap  me  in  the  whiteness  of  a  virgin  shroud." 

On  she  went,  hope-laden  — 

Happy,  happy  maiden ! 
Never  more  to  tremble,  and  to  weep  no  more : 

All  her  sins  forgiven. 

Straight  the  path  to  heaven. 
Through  the  glowing  fire,  lay  her  feet  before. 

On  she  went,  on  quickly. 
And  her  breath  came  thickly, 


THE  DYING   MAN  TO   HIS  BETROTHED     325 

With  the  longing  to  see  God  coming  pantingly: 

Now  the  fire  is  kindled, 

And  her  flesh  has  dwindled 
Unto  dust;  —  her  soul  is  mounting  up  on  high: 

Higher,  higher  mounting, 

The  swift  moments  counting,  — 
Fear  is  left  beneath  her,  and  the  chastening  rod : 

Tears  no  more  shall  blind  her; 

Trouble  lies  behind  her; 
Satisfied  with  hopeful  rest,  and  replete  with  God. 
24  May  1846. 


THE   DYING   MAN   TO    HIS   BETROTHED 

ONE  word —  'tis  all  I  ask  of  thee; 
One  word  —  and  that  is  little  now 
That  I  have  learned  thy  wrong  of  me ; 
And  thou  too  art  unfaithful  —  thou  1 
O  thou  sweet  poison,  sweetest  death, 

0  honey  between  serpent's  teeth, 
Breathe  on  me  \vith  thy  scorching  breath! 

The  last  poor  hope  is  fleeting  now, 
And  with  it  life  is  ebbing  fast; 

1  gaze  upon  thy  cold  white  brow. 
And  loathe  and  love  thee  to  the  last. 


326      THE  DYING  MAN  TO   HIS  BETROTHED 

And  still  thou  keepest  silence,  — still 
Thou  look'st  on  me :  for  good  or  ill 
Speak  out,  that  I  may  know  thy  will. 

Thou  weepest,  woman,  and  art  pale : 
Weep  not,  for  thou  shalt  soon  be  free; 

My  life  is  ending  like  a  tale 

That  was  but  never  more  shall  be. 

0  blessed  moments,  ye  fleet  fast, 
And  soon  the  latest  shall  be  past, 
And  she  will  be  content  at  last. 

Nay,  tremble  not,  I  have  not  curst 
Thy  house  or  mine,  or  thee  or  me. 

The  moment  that  I  saw  thee  first. 

The  moment  that  I  first  loved  thee,  — 

Curse  them?  —  Alas  I  can  but  bless 

In  this  mine  hour  of  heaviness :  — 

Nay,  sob  not  so  in  thy  distress. 

1  have  been  harsh,  thou  say'st  of  me;  — 

God  knows  my  heart  was  never  so; 
It  never  could  be  so  to  thee. 

And  now  it  is  too  late  —  I  know 
Thy  grief  —  forgive  me,  love,  'tis  o'er; 
For  I  shall  never  trouble  more 
Thy  life  that  was  so  calm  before. 

I  pardon  thee;  mayst  thou  be  blest! 
Say,  wilt  thou  sometimes  think  of  me? 


THE  DYIJVG  MAN  TO   HIS  BETROTHED     327 

Oh  may  I,  from  my  happy  rest, 

Still  look  with  love  on  thine  and  thee,  — 
And  may  I  pray  for  thee  alway, 
And  for  thy  love  still  may  I  pray, 
Waiting  the  everlasting  day! 

Stoop  over  me;  — ah  this  is  death! 

I  scarce  can  see  thee  at  my  side : 
Stoop  lower;  let  me  feel  thy  breath, 

O  thou,  mine  own,  my  promised  bride ! 
Pardon  me,  love;  —  I  pardon  thee  : 
And  may  our  pardon  sealed  be 
Throughout  the  long  eternity. 

The  pains  of  death  my  senses  cover. 

Oh  for  His  sake  who  died  for  men, 
Be  thou  more  true  to  this  thy  lover 

Than  thou  hast  been  to  me :  Amen. 
And,  if  he  chide  thee  wrongfully. 
One  little  moment  think  on  me, 
And  thou  wilt  bear  it  patiently. 

And  now,  O  God,  I  turn  to  Thee : 

Thou  only.  Father,  canst  not  fail : 
Lord,  Thou  hast  tried  and  broken  me. 

And  yet  Thy  mercy  shall  prevail. 
Saviour,  through  Thee  I  am  forgiven;  — 
Do  Thou  receive  my  soul,  blood-shriven, 
O  Christ,  w^ho  art  the  Gate  of  Heaven ! 

I  \  July  1846.  \ 


328  LISETTA   ALL   AMAXTE 


LISETTA   ALL'    A^L\XTE 

PERDOXA  al  primo  eccesso 
D'  un  tenero  dolore; 
A  te  promisi  il  core, 

E  vo'  serbarlo  a  te. 
Ma  dimmi  e  mi  consola : 
M'  ami  tu  ancor,  cor  mio? 
Se  a  te  fedel  son  io, 
Sarai  fedele  a  me? 


Che  se  nell'  alma  ingrata 
Pensi  ad  abbandonarmi, 
Anch'  io  sapro  scordarmi 

D'  un  amator  crudeL 
Ma  crederlo  non  voglio, 
Ma  non  Io  vo'  pensare; 
Che  nol  potrei  lasciare, 

Che  gli  sarei  fedeL 

Folkestone,  ii  August  1846. 


THE  DEAD  BRIDE  ■     329 


THE   DEAD   BRIDE 

THERE  she  lay  so  still  and  pale, 
With  her  bridal  robes  around  her: 
Joy  is  fleeting,  life  is  frail, 
Death  had  found  her. 

Gone  for  ever :  gone  away 

From  the  love  and  light  of  earth; 
Gone  for  ever :  who  shall  say 
Where  her  second  birth? 

Had  her  life  been  good  and  kind? 

Had  her  heart  been  meek  and  pure? 
Was  she  of  a  lowly  mind. 
Ready  to  endure? 

Did  she  still  console  the  sad, 

Soothe  the  widow's  anguish  wild, 
Make  the  poor  and  needy  glad, 
Tend  the  orphan  child? 

Who  shall  say  what  hope  and  fear 

Crowded  in  her  short  life's  span? 
If  the  love  of  God  was  dear 
Or  the  love  of  man? 


330  THE  DEAD   BRIDE 

Happy  bride  if  single-hearted 

Her  first  love  to  God  was  given  ^ 
If  from  this  world  she  departed 
But  to  dwell  in  heaven ; 


If  her  faith  on  heaven  was  fixed 

And  her  hope;   if  charity 
Filled  her  full  of  light  unmixed 
With  earth's  vanity. 

But  alas,  if  tainted  pleasure 

Won  her  heart  and  held  it  here, 

Where  is  now  her  failing  treasure, 

All  her  gladness  where?  .  .   . 

Hush,  too  curious  questioner; 

Hush,  and  think  thine  own  sins  o'er. 
Little  canst  thou  learn  from  her; 
For  we  know  no  more 

Than  that  there  she  lies  all  pale 

With  her  bridal  robes  around  her : 
Joy  is  fleeting  —  life  is  frail  — 
Death  hath  found  her. 

Folkestone,  lo  Septe7nbe7'  1846. 


ir/LL  THESE  HANDS  NE'ER  BE  CLEAN/     331 


WILL  THESE    HANDS   NE'ER   BE    CLEAN? 

AND  who  is  this  lies  prostrate  at  thy  feet? 
And  is  he  dead,  thou  man  of  wrath  and  pride? 
Yes,  now  thy  vengeance  is  complete. 
Thy  hate  is  satisfied. 
What  had  he  done  to  merit  this  of  thee? 
Who  gave  thee  power  to  take  away  his  life? 
O  deeply-rooted  direful  enmity 

That  ended  in  long  strife ! 
See  where  he  grasped  thy  mantle  as  he  fell. 
Staining  it  with  his  blood;  how  terrible 
Must  be  the  payment  due  for  this  in  hell ! 

And  dost  thou  think  to  go  and  see  no  more 
Thy  bleeding  victim,  now  the  struggle's  o'er? 

To  find  out  peace  in  other  lands. 

And  wash  the  red  mark  from  thy  hands? 

It  shall  not  be;  for  everywhere 

He  shall  be  with  thee;  and  the  air 

Shall  smell  of  blood,  and  on  the  wind 

His  groans  pursue  thee  close  behind. 

When  waking  he  shall  stand  before  thee;* 

And  when  at  length  sleep  shall  come  o'er  thee, 

Powerless  to  move,  alive  to  dream, 

So  dreadful  shall  thy  visions  seem 

That  thou  shalt  own  them  even  to  be 

More  hateful  than  reality. 


332      WILL  THESE  HANDS  AE'ER  BE  CLEAN? 

What  time  thou  stoopest  down  to  drink 
Of  limpid  waters,  thou  shalt  think 
It  is  thy  foe's  blood  bubbles  up 
From  the  polluted  fountain's  cup, 
That  stains  thy  lip,  that  cries  to  heaven 
For  vengeance  —  and  it  shall  be  given. 


And  when  thy  friends  shall  question  thee, 
"Why  art  thou  changed  so  heavily?  " 
Trembling  and  fearful  shalt  thou  say 
''  I  am  not  changed,"  and  turn  away; 
For  such  an  outcast  thou  shalt  be 
Thou  wilt  not  dare  ask  sympathy. 

And  so  thy  life  will  pass,  and  day  by  day 
The  current  of  existence  flow  away; 
And,  though  to  thee  earth  shall  be  hell  and  breath 
Vengeance,  yet  thou  shalt  tremble  more  at  death. 
And  one  by  one  thy  friends  will  learn  to  fear  thee, 
i\nd  thou  shalt  live  without  a  hope  to  cheer  thee; 
Lonely  amid  a  thousand,  chained  though  free, 
The  curse  of  memory  shall  cling  to  thee : 
Ages  may  pass  away,  worlds  rise  and  set  — 
But*  thou  shalt  not  forget. 

Folkestone,  i6  September  1846. 


PRESENT  AND   FUTURE  333 


PRESENT   AND    FUTURE 

WHAT  is  life  that  we  should  love  it, 
Cherishing  it  evermore, 
Never  prizing  aught  above  it. 

Ever  loth  to  give  it  o'er? 
Is  it  goodness?  is  it  gladness? 
Nay,  'tis  more  of  sin  and  sadness, 
Nay,  of  weariness  'tis  more. 

Earthly  joys  are  very  fleeting, 

Earthly  sorrows  very  long; 
Parting  ever  follows  meeting. 

Night  succeeds  to  evensong. 
Storms  may  darken  in  the  morning 
And  eclipse  the  sun's  bright  dawning, 

And  the  chilly  gloom  prolong. 

But,  though  clouds  may  screen  and  hide  it, 
The  sun  shines  for  evermore. 

Then  bear  grief  in  hope :  abide  it 
Knowing  that  it  must  give  o'er: 

And  the  darkness  shall  flee  from  us. 

And  the  sun  beam  down  upon  us 
Ever  glowing  more  and  more. 

5  Nove?7iber  1846. 


334  THE  TIME  OF  WAITING 


THE   TIME   OF   WAITING 

LIFE  is  fleeting,  joy  is  fleeting, 
-^  Coldness  follows  love  and  greeting, 
Parting  still  succeeds  to  meeting. 

If  I  say,  "Rejoice  to-day," 
Sorrow  meets  me  in  the  way : 
I  cannot  my  will  obey. 

If  I  say,  "My  grief  shall  cease; 
Now  then  I  will  live  in  peace  " : 
My  cares  instantly  increase. 

When  I  look  up  to  the  sky, 
Thinking  to  see  light  on  high, 
Clouds  my  searching  glance  defy. 

When  I  look  upon  the  earth 

For  the  flowers  that  should  have  birth, 

I  find  dreariness  and  dearth. 

And  the  winds  sigh  on  for  ever, 
Murmurs  still  the  flowing  river, 
On  the  graves  the  sunbeams  quiver. 

And  destruction  waxeth  bold. 
And  the  earth  is  growing  old, 
And  I  tremble  in  the  cold. 


THE   TIME   OF   WAITING  335 

And  my  weariness  increases 
To  an  ache  that  never  ceases 
And  a  pain  that  ne'er  decreases. 

And  the  times  are  turbulent, 
And  the  Holy  Church  is  rent, 
And  who  tremble  or  repent? 

And  loud  cries  do  ever  rise 
To  the  portals  of  the  skies 
From  our  earthly  miseries; 

From  love  slighted,  not  requited; 
From  high  hope  that  should  have  lighted 
All  our  path  up,  now  benighted; 

From  the  w^oes  of  humankind; 
From  the  darkness  of  the  mind; 
From  all  anguish  undefined; 

From  the  heart  that's  crushed  and  sinking; 
From  the  brain  grown  blank  with  thinking; 
From  the  spirit  sorrow  drinking. 

All  cry  out  with  pleading  strong : 
"Vengeance,  Lord!  how  long,  how  long 
Shall  w^e  suffer  this  great  wrong?  '* 

And  the  pleading  and  the  cry 

Of  earth's  sons  are  heard  on  high, 

And  are  noted  verily. 


33^  THE   TIME   OF   WAITING 

■  When  this  world  shall  be  no  more, 
The  oppressors  shall  endure 
The  great  vengeance  which  is  sure. 

And  the  sinful  shall  remain 
To  an  endless  death  and  pain; 
But  the  good  shall  live  again,  — 

Never  more  to  be  oppressed; 
Balm  shall  heal  the  bleeding  breast, 
And  the  weary  be  at  rest. 

All  shall  vanish  of  dejection, 
Grief  and  fear  and  imperfection. 
In  that  glorious  resurrection. 

Heed  not  then  a  night  of  sorrow. 

If  the  dawning  of  the  morrow 

From  past  grief  fresh  beams  shall  borrow. 

Thankful  for  whate'er  is  given, 
Strive  we,  as  we  ne'er  have  striven, 
For  love's  sake  to  be  forgiven. 

Then,  the  dark  clouds  opening. 
Even  to  us  the  sun  shall  bring 
Gladness,  and  sweet  flowers  shall  spring. 

For  Christ's  guiding  love  alway, 

For  the  everlasting  day. 

For  meek  patience,  let  us  pray. 

1 6  Nove77iber  1846. 


THE  SOLITARY  ROSE  ^11 


TASSO   AND    LEONORA 

A  GLORIOUS  vision  hovers  o'er  his  soul, 
Gilding  the  prison  and  the  weary  bed,  — 
Though  hard  the  pillow  placed  beneath  his  head, 
Though  brackish  be  the  water  in  the  bowl 

Beside  him;  he  can  see  the  planets  roll 
In  glowing  adoration,  without  dread; 
Knowing  how,  by  unerring  wisdom  led. 
They  struggle  not  against  the  strong  control. 

When  suddenly  a  star  shoots  from  the  skies, 
Than  all  the  other  stars  more  purely  bright. 
Replete  with  heavenly  loves  and  harmonies: 

He  starts:  —  what  meets  his  full  awakening  sight? 
Lo !  Leonora,  with  large  humid  eyes. 
Gazing  upon  him  in  the  misty  light. 

19  December  1846. 


THE   SOLITARY   ROSE 

O  HAPPY  rose,  red  rose,  that  bloomest  lonely 
Where  there  are  none  to  gather  while  they 
love  thee; 
That  art  perfumed  by  thine  own  fragrance  only. 

Resting  like  incense  round  thee  and  above  thee :  — 
Thou  hearest  nought  save    some   pure    stream   that 
flows, 
O  happy  rose. 
z 


338  THE  SONG    OF  THE  STAR 

What  though  for  thee  no  nightingales  are  singing? 
They    chant   one    eve,    but    hush    them    in    the 
morning. 
Near  thee  no  little  moths  and  bees  are  winging 

To  steal  thy  honey  when  the  day  is  dawning;  — 
Thou  keep' St  thy  sweetness  till  the  twilight's  close, 
O  happy  rose. 

Then  rest  in  peace,  thou  lone  and  lovely  flower; 
Yea  be  thou  glad,   knowing  that   none  are  near 
thee, 
To  mar  thy  beauty  in  a  wanton  hour. 

And  scatter  all  thy  leaves  nor  deign  to  wear  thee. 
Securely  in  thy  solitude  repose, 
O  happy  rose. 

15  March  1847. 

THE   SONG   OF  THE   STAR 

I  AM  a  Star  dwelling  on  high 
In  the  azure  of  the  vaulted  sky. 
I  shine  on  the  land  and  I  shine  on  the  sea, 
And  the  little  breezes  talk  to  me. 
The  waves  rise  towards  me  every  one, 
And  forget  the  brightness  of  the  sun : 
The  growing  grass  springs  up  towards  me. 
And  forgets  the  day's  fertility. 
My  face  is  light,  and  my  beam  is  life. 
And  my  passionless  being  hath  no  strife. 
In  me  no  love  is  turned  to  hate. 


( 


THE  SOXG    OF  THE  STAR 


339 


No  fullness  is  made  desolate; 

Here  is  no  hope,  no  fear,  no  grief, 

Here  is  no  pain  and  no  relief; 

Nor  birth  nor  death  hath  part  in  me, 

But  a  profound  tranquillity. 

The  blossoms  that  bloomed  yesterday 

Unaltered  shall  bloom  on  to-day, 

And  on  the  morrow  shall  not  fade. 

Within  the  everlasting  shade 

The  fountain  gushing  up  for  ever 

Flows  on  to  the  eternal  river. 

That,  running  by  a  reedy  shore. 

Bubbles,  bubbles  evermore. 

The  happy  birds  sing  in  the  trees 

To  the  music  of  the  southern  breeze; 

And  they  fear  no  lack  of  food, 

Chirping  in  the  underwood; 

For  ripe  seeds  and  berried  bushes 

Serve  the  finches  and  the  thrushes. 

And  all  feathered  fowls  that  dwell 

In  that  shade  majestical. 

Beyond  all  clouds  and  all  mistiness 

I  float  in  the  strength  of  my  loveliness. 

xA.nd  I  move  round  the  sun  with  a  measured  motion 

In  the  blue  expanse  of  the  skyey  ocean; 

x\nd  I  hear  the  song  of  the  angel  throng 

In  a  river  of  extasy  flow  along. 

Without  a  pausing,  without  a  hushing. 

Like  an  everlasting  fountain's  gushing 

That  of  its  own  will  bubbles  up 


340  THE  SONG    OF  THE  STAR 

From  a  white  untainted  cup. 

Countless  planets  float  round  me, 

Differing  all  in  majesty; 

Smaller  some,  and  some  more  great, 

Amethystine,  roseate. 

Golden,  silvery,  glowing  blue, 

Hueless,  and  of  every  hue. 

Each  and  all,  both  great  and  small. 

With  a  cadence  musical. 

Shoot  out  rays  of  glowing  praise 

Never  ending,  but  ahvays 

Hymning  the  Creator's  might 

Who  hath  filled  them  full  of  light, 

Pealing  through  eternity. 

Filling  out  immensity; 

Sun  and  moon  and  stars  together 

In  heights  where  is  no  cloudy  weather; 

Where  is  nor  storm  nor  mist  nor  rain. 

Where  night  goeth  not  to  come  again. 

On  and  on  and  on  for  ever. 

Never  ceasing,  sinking  never. 

Voiceless  adorations  rise 

To  the  heaven  above  the  skies. 

We  all  chant  with  a  holy  harmony, 

No  discord  marreth  our  melody; 

Here  are  no  strifes  nor  envyings. 

But  each  wath  love  joyously  sings. 

For  ever  and  ever  floating  free 

In  the  azure  light  of  infinity. 

19  March  1847. 


1 


RESURRECTION  EVE  341 


RESURRECTION   EVE 

HE  resteth:  weep  not; 
The  living  sleep  not 
With  so  much  calm. 

He  hears  no  chiding 

And  no  deriding, 

Hath  joy  for  sorrow, 

For  night  hath  morrow, 
For  wounds  hath  balm, 
For  life's  strange  riot 
Hath  death  and  quiet. 
Who  would  recall  him 

Of  those  that  love  him? 
No  fears  appall  him, 
No  ills  befall  him; 

There's  nought  above  him 
Save  turf  and  flowers 

And  pleasant  grass. 
Pass  the  swift  hours, 

How  swiftly  pass ! 
The  hours  of  slumber 
He  doth  not  number; 
Grey  hours  of  morning 
Ere  the  day's  dawning; 
Brightened  by  gleams 
Of  the  sunbeams,  — 
By  the  foreseeing 


342  THE  DEAD    CITY 

Of  resurrection, 
Of  glorious  being, 

Of  full  perfection, 
Of  sins  forgiven 
Before  the  face 

Of  men  and  spirits; 
Of  God  in  heaven. 
The  resting-place 
That  he  inherits. 
8  April  1847. 

THE   DEAD   CITY 

ONCE  I  rambled  in  a  wood 
With  a  careless  hardihood, 
Heeding  not  the  tangled  way; 
Labyrinths  around  me  lay. 
But  for  them  I  never  stood. 

On,  still  on,  I  wandered  on. 
And  the  sun  above  me  shone; 

And  the  birds  around  me  winging 
With  their  everlasting  singing 
Made  me  feel  not  quite  alone. 

In  the  branches  of  the  trees 
Murmured  like  the  hum  of  bees 
The  low  sound  of  happy  breezes. 
Whose  sweet  voice  that  never  ceases 
Lulls  the  heart  to  perfect  ease. 


I 


THE  DEAD    CITY  343 

Streamlets  bubbled  all  around 
On  the  green  and  fertile  ground, 

Through  the  rushes  and  the  grass, 

Like  a  sheet  of  liquid  glass, 
With  a  soft  and  trickling  sound. 

And  I  went,  I  went  on  faster, 
Contemplating  no  disaster; 

And  I  plucked  ripe  blackberries, 

But  the  birds  with  envious  eyes 
Came  and  stole  them  from  their  master. 

For  the  birds  here  were  all  tame; 
Some  with  bodies  like  a  flame; 

Some  that  glanced  the  branches  through. 

Pure  and  colourless  as  dew; 
Fearlessly  to  me  they  came. 

Before  me  no  mortal  stood 
In  the  mazes  of  that  wood; 

Before  me  the  birds  had  never 

Seen  a  man,  but  dwelt  for  ever 
In  a  happy  solitude : 

Happy  solitude,  and  blest 
With  beatitude  of  rest; 

Where  the  woods  are  ever  vernal, 

And  the  life  and  joy  eternal, 
Without  death's  or  sorrow's  test. 


_    1 


344  '^HE  DEAD    CITY 

O  most  blessed  solitude ! 
O  most  full  beatitude ! 

Where  are  quiet  without  strife 

And  imperishable  life, 
Nothing  marred  and  all  things  good. 

And  the  bright  sun,  life-begetting, 
Never  rising,  never  setting. 
Shining  warmly  overhead, 
Nor  too  pallid  nor  too  red, 
Lulled  me  to  a  sweet  forgetting  — 

Sweet  forgetting  of  the  time; 
And  I  listened  for  no  chime 

Which  might  warn  me  to  be  gone; 

But  I  wandered  on,  still  on, 
'Neath  the  boughs  of  oak  and  lime. 

Know  I  not  how  long  I  strayed 
In  the  pleasant  leafy  shade; 
But  the  trees  had  gradually 
Grown  more  rare,  the  air  more  free, 
The  sun  hotter  overhead. 

Soon  the  birds  no  more  were  seen 

Glancing  through  the  living  green, 

And  a  blight  had  passed  upon 

All  the  trees,  and  the  pale  sun 

Shone  with  a  strange  lurid  sheen. 


THE  DEAD   CITY  345 

Then  a  darkness  spread  around : 
I  saw  nought;   I  heard  no  sound: 

Solid  darkness  overhead, 

With  a  trembling  cautious  tread 
Passed  I  o'er  the  unseen  ground. 

But  at  length  a  pallid  light 
Broke  upon  my  searching  sight; 

A  pale  solitary  ray 

Like  a  star  at  dawn  of  day 
Ere  the  sun  is  hot  and  bright. 

Towards  its  faintly  glimmering  beam 
I  went  on  as  in  a  dream  — 

A  strange  dream  of  hope  and  fear  — 

And  I  saw,  as  I  drew  near, 
'Twas  in  truth  no  planet's  gleam; 

But  a  lamp  above  a  gate 
Shone  in  solitary  state. 

O'er  a  desert  drear  and  cold, 

O'er  a  heap  of  ruins  old, 
O'er  a  scene  most  desolate. 

By  that  gate  I  entered  lone 

A  fair  city  of  white  stone; 
And  a  lovely  light  to  see 
Dawned,  and  spread  most  gradually, 

Till  the  air  grew  warm  and  shone. 


346  THE  DEAD    CITY 

Through  the  splendid  streets  I  strayed 
In  that  radiance  without  shade; 

Yet  I  heard  no  human  sound; 

All  was  still  and  silent  round 
As  a  city  of  the  dead. 

All  the  doors  were  open  wide; 

Lattices  on  every  side 

In  the  wind  swung  to  and  fro  — 
Wind  that  whispered  very  low, 

"Go  and  see  the  end  of  pride." 

With  a  fixed  determination 
Entered  I  each  habitation; 

But  they  all  were  tenantless. 

All  was  utter  loneliness, 
All  was  deathless  desolation. 

In  the  noiseless  market-place 
Was  no  careworn  busy  face; 

There  were  none  to  buy  or  sell, 

None  to  listen  or  to  tell, 
In  this  silent  emptiness. 

Through  the  city  on  I  went 
Full  of  awe  and  wonderment. 
Still  the  light  around  me  shone, 
And  I  wandered  on,  still  on. 
In  my  great  astonishment. 


THE  DEAD    CITY  347 

Till  at  length  I  reached  a  place 
Where  amid  an  ample  space 

Rose  a  palace  for  a  king; 

Golden  was  the  turreting, 
And  of  solid  gold  the  base. 

The  great  porch  was  ivory, 
And  the  steps  were  ebony; 

Diamond  and  chrysoprase 

Set  the  pillars  in  a  blaze, 
Capitalled  with  jewelry. 

None  was  there  to  bar  my  way, 

And  the  breezes  seemed  to  say, 

"  Touch  not  these,  but  pass  them  by, 
Pressing  onwards  " ;  therefore  I 

Entered  in  and  made  no  stay. 

All  around  was  desolate. 

I  went  on;  a  silent  state 

Reigned  in  each  deserted  room, 
x\nd  I  hastened  through  the  gloom 

Till  I  reached  an  outer  gate. 

Soon  a  shady  avenue. 

Blossom-perfumed,  met  my  view; 
Here  and  there  the  sunbeams  fell 
On  pure  founts  whose  sudden  swell 

Up  from  marble  basons  flew. 


34S  THE  DEAD    CITY 

Every  tree  was  fresh  and  green: 
Not  a  withered  leaf  was  seen 

Through  the  veil  of  flowers  and  fruit; 

Strong  and  sapful  were  the  root, 
The  top  boughs,  and  all  between. 

Vines  were  climbing  everywhere, 
Full  of  purple  grapes  and  fair. 
And  far  off  I  saw  the  corn 
With  its  heavy  head  down  borne 
By  the  odour-laden  air. 

Who  shall  strip  the  bending  vine? 

Who  shall  tread  the  press  for  wine? 
Who  shall  bring  the  harvest  in 
When  the  pallid  ears  begin 

In  the  sun  to  glow  and  shine  ? 

On  I  went  alone,  alone, 
Till  I  saw  a  tent  that  shone 

With  each  bright  and  lustrous  hue; 

It  was  trimmed  with  jewels  too. 
And  with  flowers;  not  one  was  gone. 

Then  the  breezes  whispered  me : 
"Enter  in,  and  look,  and  see 
How  for  luxury  and  pride 
A  great  multitude  have  died.** 
And  I  entered  tremblingly. 


THE  DEAD    CITY 

Lo  a  splendid  banquet  laid 
In  the  cool  and  pleasant  shade. 
Mighty  tables  everything 
Of  sweet  Nature's  furnishing 
That  was  rich  and  rare  displayed; 

And  each  strange  and  luscious  cate 
Practised  art  makes  delicate; 
With  a  thousand  fair  devices 
Full  of  odours  and  of  spices; 
And  a  warm  voluptuous  state. 

All  the  vessels  were  of  gold, 
Set  with  gems  of  worth  untold. 
In  the  midst  a  fountain  rose 
Of  pure  milk,  whose  rippling  flows 
In  a  silver  bason  rolled. 

In  green  emerald  baskets  were 
Sun-red  apples,  streaked  and  fair; 
Here  the  nectarine  and  peach 
And  ripe  plum  lay,  and  on  each 
The  bloom  rested  everywhere. 

Grapes  were  hanging  overhead, 

Purple,  pale,  and  ruby-red; 
And  in  panniers  all  around 
Yellow  melons  shone,  fresh  found. 

With  the  dew  upon  them  spread. 


THE  DEAD    CITY 

And  the  apricot  and  pear 
And  the  pulpy  fig  were  there, 
Cherries  and  dark  mulberries, 
Bunchy  currants,  strawberries, 
And  the  lemon  wan  and  fair : 

And  unnumbered  others  too. 

Fruits  of  every  size  and  hue. 
Juicy  in  their  ripe  perfection. 
Cool  beneath  the  cool  reflection 

Of  the  curtains'  skyey  blue. 

All  the  floor  was  strewn  with  flowers 
Fresh  from  sunshine  and  from  showers, 

Roses,  lilies,  jessamine; 

And  the  ivy  ran  between. 
Like  a  thought  in  happy  hours. 

And  this  feast  too  lacked  no  guest, 
With  its  warm  delicious  rest; 
With  its  couches  softly  sinking. 
And  its  glow  not  made  for  thinking. 
But  for  careless  joy  at  best. 

Many  banqueters  were  there. 
Wrinkled  age,  the  young,  the  fair; 
In  the  splendid  revelry 
Flushing  cheek  and  kindling  eye 
Told  of  gladness  without  care. 


i 


THE  DEAD    CITY  351 

Yet  no  laughter  rang  around, 
Yet  they  uttered  forth  no  sound; 

With  the  smile  upon  his  face 

Each  sat  moveless  in  his  place, 
Silently,  as  if  spellbound. 

The  low  whispering  voice  was  gone, 
And  I  felt  awed  and  alone. 

In  my  great  astonishment 

To  the  f easters  up  I  went  — 
Lo  they  all  were  turned  to  stone ! 

Yea  they  all  were  statue-cold. 
Men  and  women,  young  and  old; 

^Vith  the  life-like  look  and  smile 

And  the  flush;  and  all  the  while 
The  hard  fingers  kept  their  hold. 

Here  a  little  child  was  sitting 
With  a  merry  glance,  befitting 

Happy  age  and  heedless  heart; 

There  a  young  man  sat  apart, 
With  a  forward  look  unweeting. 

Nigh  them  was  a  maiden  fair, 
And  the  ringlets  of  her  hair 

Round  her  slender  fingers  twined; 

And  she  blushed  as  she  reclined, 
Knowinof  that  her  love  was  there. 


352  THE  DEAD    CITY 

Here  a  dead  man  sat  to  sup, 
In  his  hand  a  drinking  cup; 
Wine-cup  of  the  heavy  gold, 
Human  hand  stony  and  cold. 
And  no  life-breath  struggling  up. 

There  a  mother  lay  and  smiled 
Down  upon  her  infant  child; 
Happy  child  and  happy  mother. 
Laughing  back  to  one  another 
With  a  gladness  undefiled. 

Here  an  old  man  slept,  worn  out 

With  the  revelry  and  rout; 

Here  a  strong  man  sat  and  gazed 
On  a  girl  whose  eyes  upraised 

No  more  wandered  roundabout. 

And  none  broke  the  stillness  —  none; 

I  was  the  sole  living  one. 
And  methought  that  silently 
Many  seemed  to  look  on  me 

With  strange  steadfast  eyes  that  shone. 

Full  of  fear  I  would  have  fled; 

Full  of  fear  I  bent  my  head, 

Shutting  out  each  stony  guest.  — 
When  I  looked  again,  the  feast 

And  the  tent  had  vanished. 


THE  ROSE  353 

Yes,  once  more  I  stood  alone 

Where  the  happy  sunlight  shone, 
And  a  gentle  wind  was  sighing. 
And  the  little  birds  were  flying, 

And  the  dreariness  was  gone. 

All  these  things  that  I  have  said 
Awed  me  and  made  me  afraid. 
What  was  I  that  I  should  see 
So  much  hidden  mystery? 
And  I  straightway  knelt  and  prayed. 
6  April  1847. 


THE    ROSE 

OROSE,  thou    flow^er  of  flowers,  thou  fragrant 
wonder. 
Who  shall  describe  thee  in  thy  ruddy  prime, 
Thy  perfect  fullness  in  the  summertime, 

When  the  pale  leaves  blushingly  part  asunder 

And  show  the  warm  red  heart  lies  glowing  under? 
Thou  shouldst  bloom  surely  in  some  sunny  clime. 
Untouched  by  blights  and  chilly  winter's  rime, 

Where  lightnings  never  flash  nor  peals  the  thunder. 

And  yet  in  happier  spheres  they  cannot  need  thee 
So  much  as  w^e  do  with  our  weight  of  w^oe; 


354      /  HAVE  FOUGHT  A    GOOD   FIGHT 

Perhaps  they  would  not  tend,  perhaps  not  heed  thee, 
And  thou  wouldst  lonely  and  neglected  grow: 

And  He  who  is  all  wise,  He  hath  decreed  thee 
To  gladden  earth  and  cheer  all  hearts  below. 

17  April  1847. 


I    HAVE    FOUGHT   A   GOOD    FIGHT 

"  T  T  7H0  art  thou  that  comest  with  a  steadfast  face 
V  V     Through  the  hushed  arena  to  the  burying- 
place?" 
"  I  am  one  whose  footprints  marked  upon  the  sand 
Cry  in  blood  for  vengeance  on  a  guilty  land." 

"  How  are  these  thy  garments  white  as  whitest  snow 
Though  thy  blood  hath  touched  them  in  its  overflow?  " 
"My  blood  cannot  stain  them,   nor  my  tears  make 

white; 
One  than  I  more  mighty.  He  hath  made  them  bright." 

"  Say,  do  thy  wounds  pain  thee  open  every  one, 
Wounds  that  now  are  glowing  clearer  than  the  sun?" 
"Nay,  they  are  my  gladness  unalloyed  by  grief; 
Like  a  desert-fountain,  or  a  long  relief." 

"When  the  lion  had  thee  in  his  deadly  clasp. 
Was  there  then  no  terror  in  thy  stifled  gasp?" 
"Though  I  felt  the  crushing,  and  the  grinding  teeth. 
He  was  with  me  ever.  He  who  comforteth." 


WISHES  355 

^^  Didst  thou  hear  the  shouting,  as  of  a  great  flood, 
Crying  out  for  vengeance,  crying  out  for  blood?  " 
"  T  heard  it  in  silence,  and  was  not  afraid, 
While  for  the  mad  people  silently  I  prayed." 

"Did  their  hate  not  move  thee?  art  thou  heedless 

then 
Of  the  fear  of  children  and  the  curse  of  men?  " 
"  God  looked  down  upon  me  from  the  heaven  above, 
And  I  did  not  tremble,  happy  in  His  love." 

July  1847. 


WISHES 

OH  w^ould  that  I  were  very  far  away 
Among  the  lanes,  wath  hedges  all  around. 

Happily  listening  to  the  dreamy  sound 
Of  distant  sheep-bells,  smelling  the  new  hay 
And  all  the  wild  flowers  scattered  in  my  way : 

Or  would  that  I  were  lying  on  some  mound 

Where  shade  and  butterflies  and  thyme  abound, 
Beneath  the  trees,  upon  a  sunny  day : 
Or  would  I  strolled  beside  the  mighty  sea  — 

The  sea  before,  and  the  tall  cliffs  behind; 
While  \vinds  from  the  \varm  south  might  tell  to  me 

How  health  and  joy  for  all  men  are  designed :  — 
But,  be  I  where  I  may,  would  I  had  thee. 

And  heard  thy  gentle  voice,  my  Mother  kind. 
22  July  1S47. 


356  THE  DREAM 


THE   DREAM 

REST,  rest;  the  troubled  breast 
Panteth  evermore  for  rest:  — 
Be  it  sleep  or  be  it  death, 
Rest  is  all  it  coveteth. 


Tell  me,  dost  thou  remember  the  old  time 

We  sat  together  by  that  sunny  stream, 
And  dreamed  our  happiness  was  too  sublime 
Only  to  be  a  dream  ? 

Gazing,  till  steadfast  gazing  made  us  blind, 

We  watched  the  fishes  leaping  at  their  play; 
Thinking  our  love  too  tender  and  too  kind 
Ever  to  pass  away. 

And  some  of  all  our  thoughts  were  true  at  least 

What  time  we  thought  together  by  that  stream; 
Thy  happiness  has  evermore  increased,  — 
My  love  was  not  a  dream. 

And,  now  that  thou  art  gone,  I  often  sit 

On  its  green  margin,  for  thou  once  wert  there; 
And  see  the  clouds  that,  floating  over  it, 
Darken  the  quiet  air. 


THE  DREAM  357 

Yes  oftentimes  I  sit  beside  it  now, 

Harkening  the  wavelets  ripple  o'er  the  sands; 
Until  again  I  hear  thy  whispered  vow 
And  feel  thy  pressing  hands. 

Then  the  bright  sun  seems  to  stand  still  in  heaven, 

The  stream  sings  gladly  as  it  onward  flows. 
The  rushes  grow  more  green,  the  grass  more  even. 
Blossoms  the  budding  rose. 

I  say:  "It  is  a  joy-dream;  I  will  take  it; 

He  is  not  gone  —  he  will  return  to  me." 
What  found' St  thou  in  my  heart  that  thou  shouldst 
break  it?  — 
How  have  I  injured  thee? 

Oh  I  am  weary  of  life's  passing  show, 

Its  pageant  and  its  pain. 
I  would  I  could  lie  down  lone  in  my  woe. 

Ne'er  to  rise  up  again; 
I  would  I  could  lie  down  where  none  might  know ; 

For  truly  love  is  vain. 
Truly  love's  vain;  but  oh  how  vainer  still 

Is  that  which  is  not  love,  but  seems ! 
Concealed  indifference,  a  covered  ill, 

A  very  dream  of  dreams. 

1847. 


358  ELEANOR 


ELEANOR 

CHERRY-RED  her  mouth  was, 
Morning-blue  her  eye, 
Lady-slim  her  little  waist 
Rounded  prettily; 
And  her  sweet  smile  of  gladness 
Made  every  heart  rejoice: 
But  sweeter  even  than  her  smile 
The  tones  were  of  her  voice. 

Sometimes  she  spoke,  sometimes  she  sang; 

And  evermore  the  sound 
Floated,  a  dreamy  melody, 
Upon  the  air  around; 
As  though  a  wind  were  singing 

Far  up  beside  the  sun. 
Till  sound  and  warmth  and  glory 
Were  blended  all  in  one. 

Her  hair  was  long  and  golden, 

And  clustered  unconfined 
Over  a  forehead  high  and  white 

That  spoke  a  noble  mind. 
Her  little  hand,  her  little  foot 

Were  ready  evermore  fl 

To  hurry  forth  to  meet  a  friend; 

She  smiling  at  the  door. 


f 


IS  ID  OR  A  359 

But,  if  she  sang  or  if  she  spoke, 

'Twas  music  soft  and  grand, 
As  though  a  distant  singing  sea 

Broke  on  a  tuneful  strand; 

As  though  a  blessed  Angel 

Were  singing  a  glad  song. 
Halfway  between  the  earth  and  heaven 

Joyfully  borne  along. 

Zo/tdy  1847. 


ISIDORA 

IOVE,  whom  I  have  loved  too  \\t\\, 
_^     Turn  thy  face  away  from  me^ 
For  I  heed  nor  heaven  nor  hell 

While  mine  eyes  can  look  on  thee 
Do  not  answer,  do  not  speak. 
For  thy  voice  can  make  me  weak. 

I  must  choose  'twixt  God  and  man. 

And  I  dare  not  hesitate : 
Oh  how  little  is  life's  span, 

And  Eternity  how  great ! 
Go  out  from  me;  for  I  fear 
Mine  own  strength  while  thou  art  here. 


36o  IS  ID  OR  A 

Husband,  leave  me;  but  know  this: 

I  would  gladly  give  my  soul 
So  that  thine  might  dwell  in  bliss 

Free  from  the  accurst  control, 
So  that  thou  mightest  go  hence 
'  In  a  hopeful  penitence. 

Yea  from  hell  I  would  look  up, 
And  behold  thee  in  thy  place, 

Drinking  of  the  living  cup, 
With  the  joy-look  on  thy  face. 

And  the  light  that  shines  alone 

From  the  glory  of  the  Throne. 

But  how  could  my  endless  loss 
Be  thine  everlasting  gain? 

Shall  thy  palm  grow  from  my  cross? 
Shall  thine  ease  be  in  my  pain? 

Yea  thine  own  soul  witnesseth 

Thy  life  is  not  in  my  death. 

It  were  vain  that  I  should  die  — 
That  we  thus  should  perish  both; 

Thou  wouldst  gain  no  peace  thereby; 
And  in  truth  I  should  be  loth 

By  the  loss  of  my  salvation 

To  increase  thy  condemnation. 

Little  infant,  his  and  mine. 
Would  that  I  were  as  thou  art; 


ISIDORA  361 

Nothing  breaks  that  sleep  of  thine, 
And  ah  nothing  breaks  thy  heart; 
And  thou  knowest  naught  of  strife, 
The  heart's  death  for  the  soul's  life. 

None  misdoubt  thee,  none  misdeem 

Of  thy  wishes  and  thy  will. 
All  thy  thoughts  are  what  they  seem, 

Very  pure  and  very  still; 
And  thou  fearest  not  the  voice 
That  once  made  thy  heart  rejoice. 

Oh  how  calm  thou  art,  my  child ! 

I  could  almost  envy  thee. 
Thou  hast  neither  wept  nor  smiled, 

Thou  that  sleepest  quietly. 
Would  I  also  were  at  rest 
With  the  one  that  I  love  best. 

Husband,  go.      I  dare  not  harken 

To  thy  words  or  look  upon 
Those  despairing  eyes  that  darken 

Down  on  me  —  But  he  is  gone  ! 
Nay,  come  back,  and  be  my  fate 
As  thou  wilt !  —  It  is  too  late. 

I  have  conquered;  it  is  done. 

Yea  the  death-struggle  is  o'er, 
And  the  hopeless  quiet  won :  — 

I  shall  see  his  face  no  more :  — 


362  ZARA 

And  mine  eyes  are  waxing  dim 
Now  they  cannot  look  on  him. 

And  my  heart-pulses  are  growing 
Very  weak,  and  through  my  whole 

Life-blood  a  slow  chill  is  going:  — 
Blessed  Saviour,  take  my  soul 

To  Thy  Paradise  and  care :  — 

Paradise,  will  he  be  there  ? 
9  Augmt  1847. 


ZARA 

NOW  the  pain  beginneth  and  the  word  is  spoken; — 
Hark   unto    the    tolling   of    the    churchyard 
chime !  — 
Once    my    heart   was    gladsome,    now   my   heart    is 
broken, — 
Once  my  love  was  noble,  now  it  is  a  crime. 

But  the  fear  is  over:  yea  what  now  shall  pain  me? 

Arm  thee  in  thy  sorrow,  O  most  desolate ! 
Weariness  and  weakness,  these  shall  now  sustain  me, — 

Pride  and  bitter  grieving,  burning  love  and  hate. 


ZARA  363 

Vea  the  fear  is  over,  the  strong  fear  and  trembling; 

I  can  doubt  no  longer,  he  is  gone  indeed. 
Rend  thy  hair,  lost  woman,  weep  without  dissembling; 

The  heart  torn  forth  from  it,  shall  the  breast  not 
bleed? 

Happy  she  who  looketh  on  his  beauty's  glory! 

Happy  she  who  listeneth  to  his  gentle  word ! 
Yet,  O  happy  maiden,  sorrow  lies  before  thee; 

Greeting  hath  been  given,  parting  must  be  heard. 

He  shall  leave  thee  also,  he  who  now  hath  left  me, 
With  a  weary  spirit  and  an  aching  heart; 

Thou  shalt  be  bereaved  by  him  who  hath  bereft  me; 
Thou  hast  sucked  the  honey,  — feel  the  stinging's 
smart. 

Let  the  cold  gaze  on  him,  let  the  heartless  hear  him, 
For  he  shall  not  hurt  them,  they  are  safe  in  sooth : 

But  let  loving  women  shun  that  man  and  fear  him, 
Full  of  cruel  kindness  and  devoid  of  ruth. 

When  ye  call  upon  him,  hope  for  no  replying; 

When  ye  gaze  upon  him,  think  not  he  will  look; 
Hope  not  for  his  pity  when  your  heart  is  sighing; 

Such  another,  waiting,  weeping,  he  forsook. 

Hath  the  heaven  no  thunder  wherewith  to  denounce 
him? 
Hath    the    heaven    no     lightning    wherewith    to 
chastise? 


364  THE  NOVICE 

O  my  heart  and  spirit,  O  my  soul,  renounce  him 
Who  hath   called  for  vengeance  from  the  distant 
skies: 

Vengeance  which  pursues  thee,  vengeance  which  shall 
find  thee. 
Crushing  thy  false  spirit,  scathing  thy  fair  limb:  — 

0  ye  thunders,  deafen,  O  ye  lightnings,  blind  me, 
Winds   and    storms    from    heaven,    strike   me  but 

spare  him ! 

1  forgive  thee,  dearest,  cruel,  I  forgive  thee;  — 

May  thy  cup  of  sorrow  be  poured  out  for  me; 
Though  the  dregs  be  bitter  yet  they  shall  not  grieve 
me, 
Knowing  that  I  drink  them,  O  my  love,  for  thee. 

1847. 


THE    NOVICE 

I  LOVE  one  and  he  loveth  me : 
Who  sayeth  this?  who  deemeth  this? 
And  is  this  thought  a  cause  of  bliss, 
Or  source  of  misery? 

The  loved  may  die,  or  he  may  change: 
And  if  he  die  thou  art  bereft; 
Or  if  he  alter  nought  is  left 
Save  life  that  seemeth  strange. 


THE  NOVICE  365 

A  weary  life,  a  hopeless  life, 
Full  of  all  ill  and  fear-oppressed; 
A  weary  life  that  looks  for  rest 
Alone  after  death's  strife. 

And  love's  joy  hath  no  quiet  even; 
It  evermore  is  variable. 
Its  gladness  is  like  w^ar  in  hell 
More  than  repose  in  heaven. 

Yea  it  is  as  a  poison-cup 
That  holds  one  quick  fire-draught  within; 
For  when  the  life  seems  to  begin 
The  slow  death  looketh  up. 

Then  bring  me  to  a  solitude 
Where  love  may  neither  come  nor  go; 
Where  very  peaceful  waters  flow, 
And  roots  are  found  for  food; 

Where  the  wild  honey-bee  booms  by, 
And  trees  and  bushes  freely  give 
Ripe  fruit  and  nuts :  there  I  would  live, 
And  there  I  fain  would  die. 

There  autumn  leaves  may  make  my  grave, 
And  little  birds  sing  over  it; 
And  there  cool  twilight  winds  may  flit 
And  shadowy  branches  w^ave. 

4  Septe7nber  1847. 


366  LADY  ISABELLA 


IMMALEE 

I  GATHER  thyme  upon  the  sunny  hills, 
And  its  pure  fragrance  ever  gladdens  me, 

And  in  my  mind  having  tranquillity 
I  smile  to  see  how  my  green  basket  fills. 
And  by  clear  streams  I  gather  daffodils; 

And  in  dim  woods  find  out  the  cherry-tree, 

And  take  its  fruit  and  the  wild  strawberry 
And  nuts  and  honey;  and  live  free  from  ills. 
I  dwell  on  the  green  earth,  'neath  the  blue  sky, 

Birds  are  my  friends,  and  leaves  my  rustling  roof; 
The  deer  are  not  afraid  of  me,  and  I 

Hear  the  wild  goat,  and  hail  its  hastening  hoof; 
The  squirrels  sit  perked  as  I  pass  them  by. 

And  even  the  watchful  hare  stands  not  aloof. 

21  September  1847. 


LADY   ISABELLA 

HEART  warm  as  summer,  fresh  as  spring. 
Gracious  as  autumn's  harvesting, 
Pure  as  the  winter's  snows;  as  white 
A  hand  as  lilies  in  sunlight; 

Eyes  glorious  as  a  midnight  star;  M 

Hair  shining  as  the  chestnuts  are; 


NIGHT  AND   DEATH  367 

A  step  firm  and  majestical; 
A  voice  singing  and  musical; 
A  soft  expression,  kind  address; 
Tears  for  another's  heaviness; 
Bright  looks  ;  an  action  full  of  grace; 
A  perfect  form,  a  perfect  face; 
All  these  become  a  woman  well, 
And  these  had  Lady  Isabel. 


27  September  1847. 


NIGHT  AND   DEATH 

^TOW  the  sunlit  hours  are  o'er, 
N     Rise  up  from  thy  shadowy  shore, 
Happy  Night,  whom  Chaos  bore. 

Better  is  the  peaceful  treasure 
Of  thy  musings  without  measure 
Than  the  day's  unquiet  pleasure. 

Bring  the  holy  moon;  so  pale 

She  herself  seems  but  a  veil 

For  the  sun,  where  no  clouds  sail. 

Bring  the  stars,  thy  progeny; 
Each  a  little  lamp  on  high 
To  light  up  an  azure  sky. 


NIGHT  AND  DEATH 

Sounds  incomprehensible 
In  the  shining  planets  dwell 
Of  thy  sister  Queen  to  tell. 

Of  that  sister  Nature  saith 

She  hath  power  o'er  life  and  breath; 

And  her  name  is  written  Death. 

She  is  fairer  far  than  thou; 
Grief  her  head  can  never  bow, 
Joy  is  stamped  upon  her  brow. 

She  is  full  of  gentleness, 

And  of  faith  and  hope;  distress 

Finds  in  her  forgetfulness. 

In  her  arms  who  lieth  down 
Never  more  is  seen  to  frown, 
Though  he  wore  a  thorny  crown. 

Whoso  sigheth  in  unrest, 

If  his  head  lean  on  her  breast 

Witnesseth  she  is  the  best. 

All  the  riches  of  the  earth. 
Weighed  by  her,  are  nothing  worth: 

She  is  the  eternal  birth. 

In  her  treasure-house  are  found 
Stored  abundantly  around 
Almsdeeds  done  without  a  sound; 


NIGHT  AND  DEATH  369 

Long  forbearance;  patient  will; 
Fortitude  in  midst  of  ill; 
Hope,  when  even  fear  grew  still; 

Kindness  given  again  for  hate; 
Hearts  resigned  though  desolate; 
Meekness,  which  is  truly  great; 

Bitter  tears  of  penitence; 
Changeless  love's  omnipotence:  — 
And  nought  lacketh  recompense. 

In  her  house  no  tainted  thing 

Winneth  any  entering; 

There  the  poor  have  comforting. 

There  they  wait  a  little  time 
Till  the  Angel-uttered  chime 
Sound  the  eternal  matin-prime. 

Then,  upraised  in  joyfulness. 
They  shall  know  her,  and  confess 
She  is  blessed  and  doth  bless. 

When  earth's  fleeting  day  is  flown, 
All  created  things  shall  own, 
Death  is  Life,  and  Death  alone. 

28  Septetnber  1847. 


370  THE  LOTUS-EATERS 

THE   LOTUS-EATERS 

Ulysses  to  Penelope 

IN  a  far  distant  land  they  dwell, 
Incomprehensible, 
Who  love  the  shadow  more  than  light, 
More  than  the  sun  the  moon, 
Cool  evening  more  than  noon. 
Pale  silver  more  than  gold  that  glitters  bright. 
A  dark  cloud  overhangs  their  land 

Like  a  mighty  hand, 
Never  moving  from  above  it; 
A  cool  shade  and  moist  and  dim, 
With  a  twilight  purple  rim. 

And  they  love  it. 
And  sometimes  it  giveth  rain, 

But  soon  it  ceaseth  as  before. 
And  earth  drieth  up  again, — 

Then  the  dews  rise  more  and  more, 
Till  it  filleth,  dropping  o'er; 
But  no  forked  lightnings  flit, 
And  no  thunders  roll  in  it. 
Through  the  land  a  river  flows. 
With  a  sleepy  sound  it  goes : 
Such  a  drowsy  noise,  in  sooth. 

Those  who  will  not  listen  hear  not: 
But,  if  one  is  wakeful,  fear  not  — 


SONNET  FROM   THE  PSALMS  371 

It  shall  lull  him  to  repose, 

Bringing  back  the  dreams  of  youth. 
Hemlock  groweth,  poppy  bloweth, 
In  the  fields  where  no  man  moweth : 
And  the  vine  is  full  of  wine 
And  are  full  of  milk  the  kine, 
And  the  hares  are  all  secure, 
And  the  birds  are  wild  no  more, 
And  the  forest-trees  wax  old, 
And  winds  stir,  or  hot  or  cold, — 
And  yet  no  man  taketh  care, 
All  things  resting  everywhere. 

7  October  1847. 


SONNET 

Fro:m  the  PsAors 

ALL  through  the  livelong  night  I  lay  awake, 
Watering  my  couch  with  tears  of  heaviness. 

None  stood  beside  me  in  my  sore  distress :  — 
Then  cried  I  to  my  heart :  If  thou  wilt,  break. 
But  be  thou  still;  no  moaning  will  I  make. 

Nor  ask  man's  help,  nor  kneel  that  he  may  bless. 

So  I  kept  silence  in  my  haughtiness. 
Till  lo  the  fire  was  kindled,  and  I  spake  — 
Saying:  Oh  that  I  had  wings  like  to  a  dove, 

Then  would  I  flee  away  and  be  at  rest : 


372  SONG 

I  would  not  pray  for  friends  or  hope  or  love, 
But  still  the  weary  throbbing  of  my  breast : 

And,  gazing  on  the  changeless  heavens  above, 
Witness  that  such  a  quietness  is  best. 
7  Nove7nber  1S47. 


SONG 

THE  stream  moaneth  as  it  floweth, 
The  wind  sigheth  as  it  bloweth, 
Leaves  are  falling.  Autumn  goeth, 

Winter  cometh  back  again; 
And  the  air  is  very  chilly. 
And  the  country  rough  and  hilly. 

And  I  shiver  in  the  rain. 
Who  will  help  me?  who  will  love  me? 
Heaven  sets  forth  no  light  above  me : 
Ancient  memories  reprove  me, 
Long-forgotten  feelings  move  me, 

I  am  full  of  heaviness. 
Earth  is  cold,  too  cold  the  sea : 
Whither  shall  I  turn  and  flee? 
Is  there  any  hope  for  me  ? 
Any  ease  for  my  heart-aching. 
Any  sleep  that  hath  no  waking. 
Any  night  without  day-breaking, 

Any  rest  from  weariness? 
Hark  the  wind  is  answering: 


THE   WORLD'S  HARMONIES  ■},']i, 

Hark  the  running  stream  replieth: 

There  is  a  rest  for  him  that  dieth : 

In  the  grave  whoever  lieth 
Nevermore  hath  sorrowing. 
Holy  slumber,  holy  quiet, 
Close  the  eyes  and  still  the  riot : 
And  the  brain  forgets  its  thought, 

And  the  heart  forgets  its  beating. 

Earth  and  earthly  things  are  fleeting; 
There  is  what  all  men  have  sought  — 
Long  unchangeable  repose. 
Lulling  us  from  many  woes. 
7  November  1847. 


THE   WORLD'S   HARMONIES 

OH  listen,  listen,  for  the  Earth 
Hath  silent  melody : 
Green  grasses  are  her  lively  chords, 

And  blossoms :  and  each  tree, 
Chestnut  and  oak  and  sycamore. 
Makes  solemn  harmony. 

Oh  listen,  listen,  for  the  Sea 

Is  calling  unto  us : 
Her  notes  are  the  broad  liquid  waves 

Mighty  and  glorious. 
Lo  the  first  man  and  the  last  man 

Hath  heard,  shall  hearken  thus. 


374  THE   WORLD'S  HARMONIES 

The  Sun  on  which  men  cannot  look, 
Its  splendour  is  so  strong, 

Which  wakeneth  life  and  giveth  life, 
Rolling  in  light  along, 

From  day-dawn  to  dim  eventide 
Sings  the  eternal  song. 


And  the  Moon  taketh  up  the  hymn, 

And  the  Stars  answer  all : 
And  all  the  Clouds  and  all  the  Winds 

And  all  the  Dews  that  fall 
And  Frost  and  fertilizing  Rain 

Are  mutely  musical. 


Fishes  and  Beasts  and  feathered  Fowl 

Swell  the  eternal  chaunt, 
That  riseth  through  the  lower  air. 

Over  the  rainbow  slant, 
Up  through  the  unseen  palace-gates, 

Fearlessly  jubilant. 


Before  the  everlasting  Throne 

It  is  acceptable : 
It  hath  no  pause  or  faltering : 

The  Angels  know  it  well : 
Yea  in  the  highest  heaven  of  heavens 

Its  sound  is  audible. 


THE  LAST  AXSIVER  375 

Yet  than  the  voice  of  the  whole  World 

There  is  a  sweeter  voice, 
That  maketh  all  the  Cherubim 

And  Seraphim  rejoice : 
That  all  the  blessed  Spirits  hail 

With  undivided  choice : 

That  crieth  at  the  golden  door 

And  gaineth  entrance  in : 
That  the  palm-branch  and  radiant  crown 

And  glorious  throne  may  win :  — 
The  lowly  prayer  of  a  Poor  Man 

Who  turneth  from  his  sin. 
20  November  1847. 


THE   LAST   ANSWER 

(Written  to  Bouts-rimes) 

SHE  turned  round  to  me  with  her  steadfast  eyes. 
"I  tell  you  I  have  looked  upon  the  dead; 
Have  kissed  the  brow^  and  the  cold  lips,"  she  said; 
••  Have  called  upon  the  sleeper  to  arise. 
He  loved  me,  yet  he  stirred  not :  on  this  wise, 
Not  bowing  in  w^eak  agony  my  head. 
But  all  too  sure  of  what  life  is,  to  dread, 
Learned  I  that  love  and  hope  are  fallacies." 


376  THE  LAST  ANSUER 

She  gazed  quite  calmly  on  me :  and  I  felt 
Awed  and  astonished  and  almost  afraid : 

For  what  was  I  to  have  admonished  her  ? 
Then,  being  full  of  doubt  and  fear,  I  knelt, 
And  tears  came  to  my  eyes  even  as  I  prayed : 

But  she  meanwhile  only  grew  statelier. 
2  December  1847. 

\ 


I 


NOTES 


BY   WILLIAM   M.  ROSSETTI 


Repining,  page  4. — This  poem  was  published  in  The 
Ger7?i^  1850.  It  is,  of  all  the  poems  by  Christina  Rossetti  which 
appeared  in  that  short-lived  magazine,  the  only  one  which  she 
did  not  afterwards  reprint.  No  doubt  it  is  far  from  being  excel- 
lent; yet  it  cannot  be  called  bad,  and  I  think  the  time  has  now 
come  for  giving  it  a  modest  place  amid  the  authoress's  writings. 
In  her  MS.  it  is  very  considerably  longer  than  in  The  Gerf?i,  or 
hence  in  the  present  volume :  the  curtailment  was  a  highly 
judicious  act.  The  reader  will  readily  perceive  that  this  poem 
is  to  some  extent  modelled  upon  Parnell's  Hermit.  The  moral, 
however,  is  different.  Parnell  aims  to  show  that  the  dispensa- 
tions of  Providence,  though  often  mysterious,  are  just.  Chris- 
tina's thesis  might  be  summarized  thus :  Solitude  is  dreary,  yet 
the  life  of  man  among  his  fellows  may  easily  be  drearier;  there- 
fore let  not  the  solitary  rebel. 

Lady  Montr evo7%  page  14.  —  This  sonnet  applies  to  a  person- 
age in  Maturin's  novel.  The  Wild  Irish  Boy.  Christina,  as  well 
as  her  brothers,  was  in  early  youth  very  fond  of  }^Iaturin's  novels, 
and  more  than  one  of  her  poemiS  relates  to  these.  Lady  ]\Ion- 
trevor  is  possibly  now  almost  forgotten.  She  is  a  brilliant  woman 
of  the  world  who  fascinates  "  the  \Yild  Irish  Boy,"  and  leads 
both  him  and  herself  into  grave  dilemmas. 

Twelve  Sonnets  written  to  Boiits-rivies,  page  15. — Our 
brother  Dante  Gabriel  and  myself  were,  towards  1848,  greatly 
addicted  to  writing  sonnets  together  to  bonts-ri?nes  ;  most  of  my 
verses  published  in  l^he  Gerj?i  —  and  this  remark  applies  not  to 

377 


378  NOTES 

sonnets  alune  —  were  thus  composed.  I  hardly  know  whether 
I  ought  to  be  ashamed  or  the  contrary  to  confess  the  fact;  it 
extenuates  some  of  the  obvious  faults  of  the  verses,  but  it  shows 
that  I  was  rather  trifling  with  my  reader.  Christina  did  not  do 
much  in  the  like  way;  but.  being  in  my  company  at  Brighton  in 
the  summer  of  1848,  she  consented  to  try  her  chance.  Like  her 
brothers,  she  was  very  rapid  at  the  work.  The  first  sonnet  in 
this  present  series  was  done  in  nine  minutes;  the  ninth  in  hve. 
After  the  Brighton  days  she  renewed  this  exercise  little,  if  at  all. 
A  few  of  her  bouts-ri?7ies  sonnets,  after  the  tirst  scribbling  of 
them,  were  retouched  to  some,  but  only  a  small,  extent. 

So7i7iet  z'ii,  page  18. — This  sonnet  about  a  chilly  August  is 
certainly  not  a  marked  success;  but  I  suppose  it  pictured  with 
some  truth  the  day  on  which  it  was  written,  and  I  allow  it  to 
pass  muster. 

Sontiet  via,  page  19.  —  Dante  Rossetti,  writing  on  30  August 
1848,  said,  in  relation  to  one  of  Christina's  botits  ri?nes  sonnets 
(I  am  not  certain  which)  :  "  Her  other  is  hrst-rate.  Pray  im- 
press upon  her  that  this  and  the  one  beginning  '  Methinks  the 
ills  of  life '  [i.e.  No.  8]  are  as  good  as  anything  she  has  written, 
and  well  worthy  of  revision." 

The  Plague,  page  20.  —  Dante  Rossetti's  letter  above-men- 
tioned says  of  this  sonnet :  "  I  grinned  tremendously  over  Chris- 
tina's Plague,  which  however  is  forcible,  and  has  something  good 
in  it." 

Sonnets  xa,  d,  and  c,  pages  20,  21,  22.  — The  sonnet  marked 
c  was,  like  i  to  9,  written  at  Brighton.  At  a  later  date —  1850, 
or  perhaps  earlier  —  Christina  wrote  a  prose  story  for  girls,  en- 
titled Maude  (it  has  not  been  published).  An  incident  in  this 
story  is  the  competition  of  three  young  ladies  composing  bouts- 
rimes  sonnets;  c  is  pronounced  to  be  the  best  of  the  three.  The 
sonnet  a  (it  will  at  once  be  observed)  is  not  a  true  sonnet  at  all, 
having  lines  of  unequal  length.  This  was,  of  course,  intentional 
on  Christina's  part,  to  mark  the  inaptitude  of  the  young  lady 
who  is  supposed  to  have  indited  a.  None  the  less  I  give  the 
three  sonnets  together,  as  showing  how  readily  Christina  could 
utilize  the  same  rhymes  for  three  entirely  distinct  lines  of 
thought  or  subject.  Two  of  the  phrases  in  c  are  thus  com- 
mented in  Maude :  "  I  have  literally  seen  [and  this  I  know  to 
be  a  fact]  a  man  in  Regent  Street  wearing  a  sort  of  hooked 


AZOTES  379 

cloak  with  one  tassel.  Of  course  every  one  will  understand  *  the 
Bason'  to  mean  the  one  in  St.  James's  Park." 

To  Lalia,  page  25.  — This  was  a  pet  name  given  to  Henrietta 
Polydore,  daughter  of  our  Uncle  Henry.  The  name  was  her 
own  baby  invention,  I  think.  She  became  consumptive,  and 
died  in  America  in  1874,  aged  about  twenty-eight. 

Thj-ee  jYuns,  page  27.  —  The  second  section  of  this  poem 
was  the  first  written,  standing  then  as  a  separate  composition. 
The  united  poem  was  inserted  into  the  prose  tale  J/aude,  with 
the  observation:  "Pray  read  the  mottoes;  put  together,  they 
form  a  most  exquisite  little  song  which  the  nuns  sing  in  Italy." 

T/ie  E7td  of  the  First  Part,  page  36.  — This  appears  to  be  a 
personal  utterance.  As  to  what  condition  of  facts  it  was  founded 
on  I  feel  no  assurance,  unless  we  are  to  regard  it  simply  as  an  indi- 
cation of  deepening  religious  convictions,  and  consequent  aliena- 
tion from  mundane  interests  and  desires.  "Tears  for  guilt"  is, 
in  reference  to  Christina,  a  very  exaggerated  phrase ;  or  possibly 
nothing  is  implied  beyond  "  original  guilt  "  or  "  original  sin." 

Tzvo  Enigjfias,  page  ;^'j. — The  answer  to  the  first  of  these 
enigmas  is  "Jack,"  It  was  published  in  a  little  pocket-book 
named  MarshalVs  Ladies'*  Daily  J\emembra7icer  for  1850,  and 
must  apparently  (according  to  the  conditions  laid  down)  have 
been  sent  in  before  June  1849.  One  copy  of  the  Remetubrancer 
was  awarded  as  a  prize  to  the  authoress;  some  other  more 
admired  contributors  received  two  copies.  The  second  enigma 
means  "  Punch,"  which  was  another  of  the  subjects  for  the 
Re7nembrancer  of  1850.  This  second  enigma  has  reached  me 
only  in  a  manuscript  copy  made  by  one  of  our  aunts. 

T1V0  Charades,  page  '^Z. — The  first  means  "Proserpine," 
the  second  "Candid."  The  latter  was  published  in  the 
Reme7?ibrancer  aforenamed.  There  was  another  unpublished 
charade,  ^gisthus  ;  but  I  have  not  thought  it  deserving  of  type. 

Looki7ig  Fo7'ward,  page  40.  —  The  tone  of  this  lyric  suggests 
that  it  was  written  in  expectation  of  seemingly  imminent  death; 
it  stands  in  my  mother's  handwriting  (quite  contrary  to  wont), 
and  so  does  another  poem  —  long  ago  published  —  dated  in  the 
same  month.  Christina's  health  —  even  perhaps  as  early  as  the 
age  of  eighteen  or  seventeen  —  was  often  exceedingly  frail,  and 
no  member  of  the  family  then  looked  for  her  living  out  an 
ordinarv  length  of  vears. 


38o  NOTES 

Queen  Rose,  page  42.  —  Christina  sang  often; — possibly  too 
often  —  the  praises  of  the  rose;  she  regarded  it  not  merely  in 
its  own  beauty,  but  as  the  symbol  of  love,  whether  construed 
as  deep  human  affection  or  as  union  with  the  Divine.  The 
lily  stood  with  her  (as  with  so  many  another)  for  faith. 

Is  and  Was,  page  50. — The  last  line  of  this  poem,  *' Doing 
all  from  self-respect,"  may  be  worth  a  moment's  comment. 
Much  about  the  time  when  the  poem  was  written,  a  lady  told 
my  sister  that  the  latter  seemed  to  "  do  all  from  self-respect," 
not  from  fellow-feeling  with  others,  or  from  kindly  consideration 
for  them.  Christina  mentioned  the  remark,  with  an  admission 
that  it  hit  a  blot  in  her  character,  in  which  a  certain  amount  of 
reserve  and  distance,  not  remote  from  hauteur,  was  certainly  at 
that  date  perceptible.  She  laid  the  hint  to  heart,  and,  I  think, 
never  forgot  it. 

A7inie^  page  52.  —  Christina,  the  most  scrupulous  of  women 
and  of  writers,  put  to  this  lyric  a  note  —  *' query  Borrows." 
She  meant  that  there  may,  or  possibly  may  not,  be  here  some 
unconscious  reminiscences  from  other  poem.s. 

Books  in  the  Ru7i7iing  Brooks,  page  56.  — This  was  printed 
in  some  magazine;  I  know  neither  the  name  nor  the  date  of  the 
latter.  In  ]^IS.  it  stands  entitled  After  a  Picture  in  the  Port- 
laiid  Gallery.  What  this  picture  may  have  been  I  cannot  now 
say;  not  one  by  Dante  Rossetti,  who  did  not  exhibit  in  that 
gallery  after  1850. 

To  ivhat  Ptirpose  is  this  Waste?  page  61, — Twelve  lines  out 
of  this  composition,  not  a  little  altered  in  diction  (beginning 
*•'  Innocent  eyes  not  ours  "),  were  published,  under  the  title  These 
all  zuait  tipon  Thee,  in  the  volume  Verses  of  1893  (Society  for 
Promoting  Christian  Knowledge).  I  include  these  lines,  in  the 
form  which  they  bear  in  the  MS.,  being  authorized  by  the 
Society  to  do  so  —  and  two  similar  instances  occur  further  on. 

A'^ext  of  Kin,  page  66.  — This  appears  to  be  a  personal 
address  to  some  very  youthful  relative;  if  so,  it  can  only  be 
intended  for  the  "  Lalla "  named  in  a  previous  note,  for 
Christina  had  no  other  relative  younger  than  herself. 

Portraits,  page  67.  —  This  warm-hearted  though  light  effu- 
sion is  meant  for  myself  in  the  first  stanza,  and  for  Dante 
Gabriel  and  myself  in  the  last.  There  used  to  be  an  inter- 
mediate stanza,  characterizing  him  ;  it  is  torn  out  (by  his  rather 


NOTES  381 

arbitrary  hand,  beyond  a  doubt),  and  I  do  not  remember  its 
terms.  Many  readers  now  will  agree  with  me  in  thinking  this 
a  great  pity.  A  laudatory  phrase  or  two  regarding  myself  ought 
possibly  to  have  induced  me  to  exclude  the  verses,  but  I  cannot 
make  up  my  mind  to  do  that. 

What?  page  68. — The  answer  to  the  query  appears  to  be 
"  Youthful  Love."  This  is  the  first  piece  in  the  present  col- 
lection which  points  with  some  distinctness  to  an  unhappy 
love-passage  in  my  sister's  life.  While  on  the  one  hand  I  have 
no  intention  of  entering  into  precise  details,  I  see  on  the  other 
no  use  in  making  a  mystery  of  such  a  matter.  A  few  words  of 
explanation  clear  up  several  passages  in  her  writings  which 
might  otherwise  remain  open  to  conjecture  equally  vague  and 
vain,  and  possibly  not  pleasant.  My  sister  was  twice  sought 
in  marriage;  and  in  each  instance  v/as  well  disposed  to  her 
suitor,  but  was  withheld  by  religious  considerations.  The  hrst 
suitor,  a  painter,  was  a  Christian,  but  not  in  the  Anglican  com- 
munion; the  second,  a  scholar  and  literary  man  —  and  this  was 
far  the  more  serious  affair  of  the  two  —  either  was  not  a  Christian 
at  all,  or  else  was  a  Christian  of  undefined  and  heterodox  views. 
The  first  matter  terminated  towards  1850,  the  second  towards 
1864.     Both  the  men  died  during  Christina's  lifetime. 

N'ear  the  Styx^  page  69.  — These  sportive  lines  take  their 
cue,  of  course,  from  the  old  song  "  In  my  cottage  near  the 
wood."  They  tickled  our  sister  Maria  uncommonly.  I  had 
totally  forgotten  them;  Christina  on  her  deathbed  (9  October 
1894)  happened  to  recite  them  to  me  —  for  she  was  often  ex- 
tremely conversible  up  to  and  beyond  that  date,  spite  of  her 
pain  and  languor  —  and  I  wrote  them  down  from  her  lips. 

For  Rosaline's  Alburn^  page  74.  —  Rosaline  was  Miss  Orme, 
who,  not  long  after  the  date  of  these  verses,  married  Professor 
David  Masson,  now  Queen's  Historiographer  for  Scotland.  I 
am  not  sure  as  to  the  actual  date  of  the  verses;  it  was  not  later 
than  September  1853,  when  they,  and  a  few  others  hereabouts, 
were  copied  out  by  my  sister  under  the  general  heading  Odds  ajtd 
Ejids.  These  sepulchral  verses  are  perhaps  not  quite  the  staple 
for  a  very  youthful  (and  I  might  add  charming)  lady's  album. 

Restive,  page  79. — In  July  1854  my  sister  put  together, 
under  the  general  title  Jhree  Stages,  3.  trio  of  separate  composi- 
tions.    The  first  is  the  one  which  has  been  published  under  the 


382  NOTES 

title  A  Pause  of  Thought  ("  I  looked  for  that  which  is  not,  nor 
can  be");  it  was  written  on  14  February  1848,  and  was  then 
named  Lines  in  Meinory  of  Schiller's  Der  Pilgrim.  The  second 
appears  in  the  present  volume  as  The  End  of  the  Eirst  Part,  its 
date  being  18  April  1849.  The  third  is  our  present  item,  to 
which  I  have  supplied  the  title  Restive.  Considering  that 
No.  I  has  already  been  published,  I  do  not  reprint  it  here;  and 
this  induces  me  to  leave  Xo.  2  under  its  proper  date,  and  to 
print  No.  3  as  an  independent  lyric.  Perhaps  at  some  future 
time  it  might  be  best  to  relink  the  three  together,  recurring  to 
the  title  Three  Stages. 

To  the  End,  page  91.  —  The  last  quatrain  of  this  poem 
seems  to  present  a  certain  reminiscence  (yet  far  from  being  a 
plagiarism)  from  Dante  Rossetti's  early  achievement  llie  Blessed 
Da77iozel. 

Look  on  this  Picture  and  on  This,  page  103.  —  In  my  sister's 
^IS.  this  poem  is  a  rather  long  one,  forty-six  triplets;  I  have 
reduced  it  to  twenty-three  —  omitting  those  passages  which 
appear  to  me  to  be  either  in  themselves  inferior,  or  adapted 
rather  for  spinning  out  the  theme  than  intensifying  it.  Longer 
or  shorter,  the  poem  is  perhaps  hardly  up  to  the  writer's 
mark ;  but  there  is  a  degree  of  peculiarity  about  it  which  dis- 
inclines me  to  drop  it  out.  Were  it  not  for  the  name  "  Eva,"  I 
should  be  embarrassed  to  guess  what  could  have  directed  my  sis- 
ter's pen  to  so  singular  a  subject  and  treatment;  but  that  name 
satisfies  me  that  she  was  here  recurring  to  a  favourite  romancist 
of  her  girlhood,  Maturin  (see  note  to  p.  14).  In  Maturin's 
novel  entitled  Women  there  is  a  personage  Eva,  and  a  situation 
which  must  certainly  have  prompted  the  present  poem. 

Gone  Before,  page  108.  — This  was  printed  in  some  magazine; 
I  cannot  now  say  which  nor  when. 

Winter,  page  112.  —  Mr.  Swynfen  Jervis,  a  friendly  acquaint- 
ance of  our  father,  wrote  a  quatrain  and  a  half  entitled  Sir 
Winter  ;  and  he  appears  to  have  got  Christina  to  complete  the 
little  poem.  Christina  finished  quatrain  two,  and  wrote  five 
others.  The  third  of  these  five  reverts  to  the  idea  of  "  Sir 
Winter";  so  I  omit  it,  as  being  extraneous  to  the  character 
of  her  own  composition  :  it  has  no  poetical  value. 

A  Triad,  page  113.  — This  very  fine  sonnet  was  published  in 
the  volume  of  1862,  Goblin  Market  a7id  other  Poems,  but  was 


NOTES  383 

omitted  in  subsequent  issues.  I  presume  that  my  sister,  with 
overstrained  scrupulosity,  considered  its  moral  tone  to  be  some- 
what open  to  exception.  In  such  a  view  I  by  no  means  agree, 
and  I  therefore  reproduce  it. 

hi  an  ArtisCs  Studio,  page  1 14.  —  The  reference  is  apparently 
to  our  brother's  studio,  and  to  his  constantly-repeated  heads  of 
the  lady  whom  he  afterwards  married,  Miss  Siddal. 

A  Nighttnare  {F7'agf?ient),  page  118.  —  In  my  sister's  note- 
book this  composition  begins  on  p.  25,  and  ends  on  p.  27;  the 
intermediate  leaf  has  been  torn  out.  Mere  scrap  as  it  is,  I 
should  be  sorry  to  lose  it  quite. 

For  One  Sake,  page  119.  —  If  this  is  to  be  regarded  as  a 
personal  utterance,  I  know  not  to  what  it  can  point.  The 
phrase  "  Wars  and  rumours  of  your  w^ars  "  suggests  to  me  that 
it  may  possibly  have  something  to  do  with  the  Indian  Mutiny  of 

1857. 

From  Metastasio,  page  120.  —  These  lines  form  a  paraphrastic 
translation  from  a  lyric  ("Amo  te  solo")  in  Metastasio's  Cle- 
?nenza  di  Tito.  I  found  them  as  a  scrap  of  MS.,  pencilled  by 
Christina  thus :  "  I  must  have  done  this  for  Traventi,  who 
wanted  English  words  to  set  to  music."  Traventi  was  a  Nea- 
politan musical  composer  and  teacher,  whom  we  knew  after  my 
father's  death  in  1854;  the  date  of  the  translation  may  be  1857 
—  or  earlier  rather  than  later. 

Yet  a  Little  IV/iile,  Y)3ige  122.  —  In  the  MS.  note-book  the 
last  two  stanzas  of  this  lyric  are  cancelled  by  a  pencil-line.  In 
this  line  I  seem  to  trace  the  "  Roman  hand  "  of  my  brother, 
not  my  sister.  Those  stanzas  comprise  some  verses  which  I 
should  be  loth  to  lose,  so  I  retain  them.  Two  other  stanzas, 
the  third  and  fourth,  were  used  by  Christina  in  the  Verses,  1893, 
with  the  title  Fanity  of  Vanities.  They  are  there  modified  in 
diction  and  lyrical  form,  and  I  reproduce  what  I  find  in  the 
MS.  note-book. 

Father  ajid  Lover, -psige  124.  —  These  two  songs  —  the  first 
spoken  by  the  Father,  and  the  second  by  the  Lover  —  come 
from  a  prose  fairy-tale  named  ILero,  which  was  printed  in  the 
volume  entitled  Commonplace  and  Other  Stories,  1870  —  long 
out  of  print.  I  am  not  sure  as  to  when  my  sister  wrote  Hero  ; 
but  I  take  it  to  have  been  several  years  prior  to  1870. 


384  NOTES 

Cousin  Kate^  page  127. — This  composition  shared  the  fate 
of  A  Triad  (see  note  to  p.  113),  and  I  presume  for  a  like 
reason. 

Sister  Maude f-^digo.  129.  —  Similar  to  the  preceding.  I  am 
not  certain  as  to  the  date  of  this  forcible  poem. 

Better  So,  page  131. — It  seems  probable  that  this  lyric  was 
written  upon  the  death  of  some  cherished  friend;  I  do  not  re- 
member who  it  was.  The  date  is  not  consistent  with  any  death 
in  our  own  family.  The  next  poem  relates  of  course  to  the  de- 
cease of  the  Prince  Consort.  It  might  be  possible  to  suppose 
that  Christina  wrote  the  present  lines  as  an  appropriate  utterance 
for  "  Our  Widowed  Queen."  The  Prince  indeed  died  on  14 
(not  13)  December,  but  on  the  13th  his  death  was  clearly 
anticipated. 

/71  Progress,  page  134.  —  The  expressions  in  this  sonnet,  if 
used  by  some  one  else,  might  have  been  not  far  from  apposite 
to  Christina  herself.  I  do  not,  however,  consider  that  she  wrote 
the  verses  with  any  such  reference.  Clearly  the  sonnet  describes 
some  particular  person;  I  can  think  of  two  ladies  not  wholly 
unlike  this  touching  portrait  —  one  more  especially  whom  Chris- 
tina first  knew  in  Newcastle-on-Tyne.  But  any  such  guess  may 
be  quite  wrong. 

Seasons,  page  135.  —  These  lines  were  published  in  Macmil- 
lan^s  Magazi7te.  They  show  a  shrinking  from  winter-time,  ap- 
parent in  several  other  compositions.  Italian  blood  may  partly 
account  for  this;  yet,  after  all,  there  is  plenty  of  beauty  in  an 
ordinary  winter,  English  or  other,  and  the  sensations  of  an  invalid 
(troubled  up  to  early  middle  age  with  many  symptoms  which 
seemed  to  point  towards  consumption)  may  have  had  more  to 
do  with  the  feeling. 

Helen  Grey,  page  138.  —  Published  in  Macmillan^s  Magazine. 

Last  Night.,  page  144.  —  Similar. 

If,  page  145. — This  also  was  published  in  some  magazine  — 
I  think  it  was  named  The  Shilliiig  Magazine.  Mr.  Frederick 
A.  Sandys  made  a  very  able  design  to  it,  engraved  on  wood; 
able,  but  (to  my  thinking)  not  in  character  with  the  poem. 

En  Route,  page  152.  —  Under  this  heading  I  find  three  pieces 
which  seem  to  have  little  connection  one  with  the  other. 
Presumably  they  were  all  written  while  my  sister,  along  with 


NOTES  385 

my  mother  and  myself,  was  making  a  flying  visit  to  North 
Italy  (through  France  and  Switzerland).  She  was  never  there 
at  any  other  time.  The  passionate  delight  in  Italy  to  which 
the  second  section  of  Eii  Route  bears  witness  suggests  that  she 
was  almost  an  alien  —  or,  like  her  father,  an  exile  —  in  the 
North.  She  never  perhaps  wrote  anything  better.  I  can 
remember  the  intense  relief  and  pleasure  with  which  she  saw 
loveable  Italian  faces  and  heard  musical  Italian  speech  at  Bel- 
linzona  after  the  somewhat  hard  and  nipped  quality  of  the 
German  Swiss. 

Husband  and  Wife.,  page  154.  —  This  was  published  in  a 
book  called  A  Masque  of  Poets ;  I  do  not  recollect  the  details. 
It  appears  to  be  the  same  poem  which  (as  shown  in  a  letter 
from  my  brother,  5  January  1866,  published  in  his  Fa7?iily- 
letters)  Mr.  F.  A.  Sandys  was  thinking  of  illustrating,  and 
for  which  my  brother  proposed  the  title  Grave-clothes  and 
Baby -clothes. 

Love'^s  A^ame,  page  161.  —  This  small  ditty  —  unimportant, 
and  yet  melodious  —  is  introduced  into  the  prose  tale  named 
Cof?i??io}iplace,  finished  in  1870,  and  published  in  the  same  year. 
It  is  supposed  to  be  sung  by  certain  young  ladies  in  Greek 
costume,  enacting  a  charade  upon  the  word  "  Love-apple." 

An  Echo  from  Willow-zuood, -^dige.  164.  —  The  title  indicates 
that  this  sonnet  by  Christina  is  based  on  those  sonnets  by  our 
brother,  named  Willow-ivood,  which  were  first  published  in 
1869.  I  incline  to  think  that  Christina's  sonnet  is  intended  to 
refer  to  the  love  and  marriage  of  my  brother  and  Miss  Siddal, 
and  to  her  early  death  in  1862.  The  verses  were  printed  in 
some  magazine  (perhaps  The  Magazine  of  Art\  with  an  illus- 
tration by  Mr.  C.  Ricketts. 

Golden  Holly.,  page  165. — This  trifle,  owing  to  its  associa- 
tions of  old  and  uninterrupted  friendship,  I  am  unwilling  to 
omit.  It  was  addressed  to  Holman  [Holly]  Frederic  Stephens, 
then  a  little  boy,  son  of  our  constant  friend,  Frederic  George 
Stephens  (one  of  the  seven  members  of  the  "P.R.B."). 
Tennyson  once  saw  the  child  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and  pro- 
nounced him  (not  unreasonably)  to  be  "  the  most  beautiful  boy 
I  have  ever  seen."  ISIr.  Stephens  senior,  in  sending  me  the 
verses  at  my  request,  wrote  that  they  refer  "to  H.  F.  S/s  fre- 
quent pet  name  of  '  the  Golden  Holly,'  given  because  of  the 


386  NOTES 

brightness   of  his  long  hair,   as  well  as  his  birthday  being  on 
October  31.     He  had  sent  a  tea-rose  to  C.  G.  R." 

An  Alphabet^  page  165.  — This  was  printed  in  1875,  ^^^'i^^ 
some  woodcuts,  in  some  magazine;  the  headline  of  the  pages 
is  For  Very  Little  Folks^  which  may  or  may  not  be  the  title  of 
the  magazine  itself.  It  must  be  an  American  publication,  as 
the  verses  are  headed  An  Alphabet  from  England. 

Cor  jMio,  page  168.  —  I  hnd  this  sonnet  in  my  sister's  hand- 
writing, endorsed  by  her  "  the  original  version  of  my  sonnet." 
The  reference  is  to  a  sonnet  in  her  volume  of  1881,  ^  Pageajtt 
and  Other  Poems  —  being  No.  18  in  the  series  named  Later 
Life.  In  that  printed  version  the  octave  (beginning  "  So  late 
in  autumn  half  the  world's  asleep")  is  entirely  changed,  while 
the  sestett  remains  the  same.  The  present  form  of  this  sonnet, 
being  a  more  directly  personal  utterance,  seems  worth  preserving. 

Who  Shall  Say?  page  168. — These  lines  (I  supply  a  title 
to  them)  were  written  in  the  rough  on  a  scrap  of  paper.  There 
is  nothing  to  suggest  that  they  are  incomplete,  and  they  are 
certainly  not  bad,  so  I  insert  them.     Date  merely  conjectural. 

Life,  page  169.  — This  sonnet  was  wTitten  on  the  back  of 
the  preceding  lines.  The  page  is  partly  torn  off,  so  that  the 
first  line  of  the  sonnet  begins  with  the  half-word  "  lerable,"  the 
second  with  "ted";  two  of  the  lines,  however,  are  complete. 
I  do  not  think  I  can  have  made  any  grave  mistake  in  the  words 
which  I  supply,  and  there  is  an  energy  of  tone  in  the  sonnet 
which  indisposes  me  to  reject  it. 

Lines,  page  171.  —  Like  the  preceding,  these  verses  are 
partly  curtailed  in  the  sHp  of  MS.,  some  rhyme- words  being 
docked.  I  have  no  doubt  as  to  what  they  ought  to  be,  unless 
in  regard  to  "thing"  (line  7),  which  is  made  to  rhyme  with 
"everything."  But  no  word  except  "thing"  appears  to  be 
even  plausible. 

Hadrian's  Death-Song  Translated,  page  171.  — In  1876  Mr. 
David  Johnston,  of  Bath,  formed  the  project  of  collecting 
various  translations  of  the  famous  lines  — "  Animula  vagula 
blandula,"  etc.,  and  publishing  them  in  a  volume,  which  was 
privately  printed.  He  looked  up  old  translations,  and  invited 
new  ones.  Christina  became  one  of  his  contributors,  also  our 
sister  Maria  and  myself;  Christina  making  an  Italian  as  well 
as  an  English  translation,  see  page  288. 


NOTES  387 

Valentines  to  my  Mother,  page  172.  —  I  shall  probably  not 
be  alone  in  considering  these  as  very  charming  compositions  of 
their  simple  intimate  kind.  Christina  left  a  pencilled  note 
about  them  thus:  "These  Valentines  had  their  origin  from  my 
dearest  mother's  remarking  that  she  had  never  received  one. 
I,  her  C.  G.  R.,  ever  after  supplied  one  on  the  day;  and  (so  far 
as  I  recollect)  it  was  a  surprise  every  time,  she  having  forgotten 
all  about  it  in  the  interim."  Our  mother  was  born  in  April 
1800,  so  she  was  nearly  seventy-six  when  the  first  Valentine  was 
written:  she  died  in  April  1886. 

Valejitine  for  i8jj,  page  172. — The  signature  "  C.  G.  for 
M.  F.  R."  means  that  these  verses  are  spoken  as  in  the  person 
of  Maria  Francesca  (our  elder  sister)  in  heaven;  she  had  died 
in  November  1876. 

Valentine  for  18  j8^  page  173.  — This  is  marked  on  the  back 
"To  the  Queen  of  Hearts,"  and  the  like  with  all  the  ensuing 
Valentines. 

Valentine  for  188 j^  page  176.  —  Here  is  an  evident  remi- 
niscence as  to  the  death  of  Dante  Gabriel  in  April  1882; 
probably  also  as  to  the  death  of  my  infant  son  ]Michael  in 
January  1883. 

My  Mouse,  page  178.  —  This  was  not  a  "mouse"  in  the 
ordinary  sense,  but  a  "  j-^^-mouse."  A  friend  very  dear  to  my 
sister  had  picked  it  up  on  the  seashore,  and  presented  it  to  her 
preserved  in  spirits.  The  sea-mouse  was  with  her  to  the  end, 
and  will  probably  remain  with  me  to  the  end ;  its  brilliant 
iridescent  hues  are  still  vivid. 

A  Poor  Old  Dog,  page  179.  —  My  sister  was  a  very  staunch 
supporter  of  the  Anti-Vivisection  Movement.  In  a  letter  to 
our  brother  (dated  perhaps  in  1879)  she  sent  the  present  verses, 
with  the  following  remarks: — "There  has  just  been  held  a 
fancy  sale  at  a  house  in  Prince's  Gate  for  the  Anti-Vivisection 
cause,  and,  having  nothing  else  to  contribute,  I  sent  a  dozen 
autographs  as  follows  [then  come  the  verses].  Of  these,  nine 
on  the  first  day  fetched  2s.  6d.  or  3s.,  while  one  even  brought 
in  I  OS.  !  The  remaining  three,  I  hope,  were  disposed  of  on  the 
closing  day." 

Parted,  page  179.  —  In  1 880  a  volume  of  poems  was  privately 
printed.  One  of  its  items  was  entitled  Moor  and  Christian^ 
purporting  to  be  "  taken  from  a  Spanish  source,"  and  expressing 


388  NOTES 

the  emotion  of  a  Moslem  woman  severed  from  her  Christian 
lover.  Christina,  using  the  same  metre  and  number  of  lines, 
wrote  the  present  composition  —  of  course  from  a  very  diverse 
point  of  view. 

To-dafs  Burden,  page  i8o.  —  Comes  from  Mr.  Hall  Caine's 
compilation,  Sonnets  of  Three  Centuries,  1882.  Date  conjec- 
tural, Imt  probably  not  far  wrong. 

Counterblast  on  Penny  Trumpet,  page  iSi.  —  These  rather 
neat  verses  are  entirely  out  of  my  sister's  ordinary  line,  which 
fact  (trifling  as  they  are)  makes  me  the  more  unwilling  to  leave 
them  out.  They  stand  signed  "C.  G.  R. :  see  St.  Jameses 
Gazette,  21  July  1882:  motive,  a  Poem."  I  infer  (for  I  have 
not  been  at  the  pains  of  looking  up  the  St.  James's  Gazette')  that 
that  newspaper  contained  some  effusion  censuring  Mr.  Bright 
for  having  quitted  the  Ministry  after  the  bombardment  of 
Alexandria,  and  also  censuring  Mr.  Gladstone  for  continuing  in 
the  Ministry.  My  sister  knew  and  cared  next  to  nothing  about 
party  politics  (apart  from  questions  having  a  religious  bearing) ; 
in  all  her  later  years,  however,  her  feeling  leaned  more  towards 
the  Conservative  than  the  Liberal  cause. 

Michael  F.  M.  Rossetti,  page  181. — These  verses  were 
published  in  the  Athenceujn  soon  after  the  death  of  my  infant 
Michael.  They  were  printed  as  one  consecutive  composition, 
but  are  properly  four  separate  snatches. 

The  Way  of  the  World,  page  183.  —  Comes  from  The  Maga- 
zine of  Art, 'July  1 894,  and  must  be  the  latest  printed  of  any 
verse  composition  within  my  sister's  lifetime.  Mr.  Britten 
made  an  illustration  to  the  stanzas.  When  they  were  written 
is  quite  uncertain  to  me  —  possibly  at  a  date  even  later  than 
that  which  I  have  noted. 

To  my  Fior-di-lisa,  page  183.  —  One  of  the  friends  who  saw 
my  sister  most  frequently  and  affectionately  in  her  closing  years 
was  Miss  Lisa  Wilson.  Christina  sometimes  called  her  Fior- 
di-lisa  (which  is  the  same  as  Fleur-de-lys).  Miss  Wilson,  who 
has  a  graceful  touch  of  her  own  both  in  verse  and  in  painting, 
presented  to  Christina  in  1892  a  little  illuminated  book  of 
poems  by  herself;  my  sister  inserted  into  it  the  present  lines  of 
response. 

Sleeping  at  Last,  page  184.  —  I  regard  these  verses  (the  title 
is  mine)  as  being  the  very  last  that  Christina  ever  wrote;  prob- 


NOTES  389 

ably  late  in  1893  o'^  ^^  ^""^Y  ^^  early  in  1894.  They  form  a 
very  fitting  close  to  her  poetic  performance,  the  longing  for  rest 
(even  as  distinguished  from  actual  bliss  in  heaven)  being  most 
marked  throughout  the  whole  course  of  her  writings.  I  found 
the  lines  after  her  death,  and -had  the  gratification  of  presenting 
them,  along  with  the  childish  script  of  her  very  first  verses 
To  f?iy  Mother,  to  the  MS.  Department  of  the  British  Museum. 
Behold,  I  statid  at  the  Door  and  Knock,  page  198.  — These 
verses  were  published  in  some  magazine.  I  fancy  it  may  have 
been  one  named  Aikin's  Year,  with  which  Mary  Howitt  was 
connected.  If  so,  I  think  the  poem  must  be  of  a  date  not 
later  than  1852,  the  publication  not  later  than  1854;  and  these 
would  be  the  first  verses  by  Christina  which  got  into  print  after 
the  cessation  of  The  Germ  in  1850. 

St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary,  page  204. — I  take  it  that  this 
lyric  received  its  immediate  inspiration  from  the  picture  of  like 
subject  painted  by  James  Collinson. 

A  Harvest,  Y>digQ  212.  —  In  the  T^IS.  note-book  the  title  is 
Annie,  and  the  poem  extends  to  twenty  stanzas.  It  then  took 
the  form  of  an  address  to  "Annie"  by  a  husband  or  lover; 
possibly  the  poignantly-pathetic  lines  of  Edgar  Poe,  Eor  Annie., 
were  partly  in  my  sister's  mind.  At  some  later  date  she  num- 
bered five  out  of  the  twenty  stanzas,  evidently  contemplating 
to  retain  those  five  alone.  I  follow  her  lead,  and  supply  a  new 
title.  The  poem  as  it  originally  stood  is,  however,  by  no  means 
a  bad  one. 

The  Eleventh  Honr,  page  214.  —  This  was  printed  in  some 
magazine;   I  am  unable  to  give  the  details. 

There  remaineth  therefore  a  Rest,  page  217.  — In  the  note- 
book this  composition  numbers  twelve  stanzas;  two  of  them, 
under  the  title  The  Bourne,  were  eventually  published  ("  Under- 
neath the  growing  grass,"  etc.).  The  remaining  ten  were  not 
unworthy  to  pair  with  those  two,  but  I  think  it  best  to  use  only 
five  of  them. 

Ye  have  forgotten  the  Exhortation,  page  218.  —  Our  father 
having  died  on  26  April  1854,  it  is  not  unnatural  to  think  that 
this  poem,  dated  10  May  1854,  bears  some  direct  relation  to 
that  loss.  There  had  been  two  other  deaths  in  the  family,  May 
and  December  1853,  those  of  our  maternal  grandparents;  to 
her  grandfather  especially  Christina  was  most  warmly  attached. 


390  AZOTES 

Hymn  after  Gabriele  Rossetti,  page  223.  —  In  our  father's 
volume  of  religious  poems  L Arpa  Evangelica  (1852)  there  is 
a  composition  named  NeW  Atto  della  Cornunione^  in  three 
parts.  The  third  begins  with  the  words  —  "  T'  amo,  e  fra  dolci 
affanni,"  and  is  the  one  which  Christina  here  translates  in  two 
separate  versions.  The  date  which  I  give  is  conjectural ;  I 
assume  the  translation  to  have  been  made  not  long  after  our 
father's  death.  The  copy  of  the  Arpa  Evangelica  into  which 
these  versions  were  inserted  is  profusely  illustrated  with  pencil- 
designs  by  Christina. 

A  Christmas  Carol  for  my  Godchildren,  page  230.  —  Christina, 
from  time  to  time,  acted  as  godmother  to  various  children  — 
mostly,  I  think,  children  of  poor  people  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Christ  Church,  Albany  Street,  Regent's  Park.  It  may  be 
worth  noting  that  this  Carol  was  written  not  at  Christmas  time, 
but  early  in  October;  and  in  many  instances  a  reference  to  dates 
would  show  that  poems  about  festivals  of  the  Church,  or  about 
seasons  of  the  year,  were  written  at  dates  by  no  means  corre- 
sponding. 

The  Heart  ICtiozveth  its  ozvn  Bitterness,  page  233.  —  Few 
things  written  by  Christina  contain  more  of  her  innermost  self 
than  this.  In  her  volume  Verses  (published  by  the  Society  for 
Promoting  Christian  Knowledge)  she  took  the  first  and  last 
stanzas  of  this  vehement  utterance,  and,  altering  the  metre 
observably,  and  the  diction  not  a  little,  she  published  them, 
with  the  title,  Whatsoever  is  right,  that  shall  ye  receive. 

Only  Believe,  page  239.  — There  were  originally  some  other 
lines  concluding  this  poem.  They  appear  in  the  Verses,  1893, 
under  the  title.  What  good  shall  my  Life  do  me? 

A  Shadow  of  Dorothea,  page  240.  —  I  do  not  find  in  the 
legend  of  St.  Dorothea  any  incident  corresponding  closely  to 
this.  I  understand  that,  in  the  poem,  the  speaker  is  a  human 
soul,  not  as  yet  confirmed  in  saintliness,  appealing  to  the 
flower-bearing  x\ngel  of  the  legend,  or  rather  indeed  to  the 
Saviour  Christ. 

For  Henrietta  Polydore,  page  242.  —  Christina's  title  only 
says  "  H.  P.,"  but  the  lines  are  certainly  intended  for  Henrietta 
Polydore,  our  cousin  (see  note  to  p.  25).  She  was  born  in 
England  and  brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic.  By  a  curious  train 
of  circumstances,  she  was  at  one  time,  while  still  a  child,  in  Salt 


AZOTES  391 

Lake  City  with  the  Mormons.  Her  father  recovered  her  thence, 
at  a  time  when  a  military  expedition  was  sent  by  the  Federal 
Government  to  control  affairs  in  the  Territory  of  Utah;  and 
the  present  lines  were  presumably  written  by  Christina  when 
she  heard  that  her  youthful  cousin  was  about  to  re-embark  for 
England. 

Ash  Wednesday,  page  242. — These  verses  —  bearing  no  title 
beyond  Jestis,  do  I  love  Thee? — were  printed  in  the  Lyra 
Eticharistica,  1 864.  Ash  Wednesday  is  the  authoress's  own 
title  in  her  MS.  note-book;  I  retain  it,  as  the  lines  were 
evidently  written  towards  the  date  of  that  fast.  Preceding 
the  last  quatrain,  the  MS.  gives  six  verses  of  ecstatic  religious 
appeal  which,  as  they  were  not  printed,  I  with  some  hesitation 
omit. 

A  Christmas  Carol,  page  244. — This  was  in  the  Lyra  Mes- 
sianica,  1S65,  named  simply  Before  the  paling  of  the  stars.  I 
retain  my  sister's  own  title. 

Easter  Even,  page  245.  —  Also  from  the  Lyra  JLessiaiiica. 

The  Offering  of  the  New  Laiv,  page  247.  —  From  the  Lyra 
Etuharistica. 

Within  the  Veil,  page  250. — From  the  L.yra  Messianica. 
These  verses  would  seem  to  refer  to  the  recent  death  of  some 
religious  and  cherished  young  friend;  I  cannot  now  say  who  it 
w^as.     In  MS.  the  title  of  the  verses  is  One  Day. 

Conference  betivee7i  Christ,  the  Saints,  and  the  Soul,  page 
253.  —  Was  printed  in  Lyra  Eucharistica.  I  do  not  find  this 
poem  in  MS.,  and  infer  that  it  may  have  been  produced  while 
the  book  was  in  actual  course  of  preparation.  On  this  ground 
I  date  it  ^^  circa  1863." 

Co?ne  tinto  Me,  page  255.  —  From  Lyra  Encharistica. 

Birds  of  Paradise,  page  257.  —  This  was  printed  in  Lyra 
ALessiajiica^  under  the  title  Paradise  in  a  Symbol.  In  that  vol- 
ume the  substituted  title  is  appropriate,  because  another  poem 
by  Christina  is  there,  named  Paradise  in  a  Dreajn  ("  Once  in 
a  dream  I  saw  the  flowers,"  etc.),  w^hich  has  been  reprinted 
ere  now.  For  the  present  poem  her  own  title  in  MS.  was 
Birds  of  Paradise,  which  I  prefer  to  retain  here.  In  the  MS. 
the  last  line  of  stanza  one  stands  "  Windy-winged  they  came." 


392  NOTES 

I  reproduce  the  printed  phrase,  yet  am  sorry  to  lose  the  writ- 
ten one. 

I  know  you  7iot,  page  258. — From  Lyra  Messianica  ;  date 
conjectural. 

Thou  aj't  the  same,  and  Thy  words  shall  7iot  fail,  page 
260.  —  This  comes  from  1  he  Children  s  Hyvui- book ^  Qdii^d  by 
Bishop  How  and  others,  and  published  by  Messrs.  Rivington. 
The  date  of  publication  is  not  given;  I  infer  it  to  be  1881,  and 
I  therefore  date  this  \)otm.'' circa  1880."  The  words  are  set 
to  be  sung  to  the  tune  "  Grasmere "  by  Mr.  Cameron  W.  H. 
Brock. 

A  Christfuas  Carol,  page  261.  —  Here  again  the  date  is  con- 
jectural. The  lines  appeared  in  The  Century-Guild  Hobby-horse 
for  1887. 

Cardinal  Newman,  page  261.  —  Published  in  the  Athenceum 
for  16  August  1890. 

Yea  I  have  a  goodly  Heritage,  page  262.  —  Published  in  Ata- 
lanta  for  October  1890.     Date  conjectural. 

A  Death  of  a  First-born,  page  263.  —  It  will  readily  be  per- 
ceived that  this  relates  to  the  death  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence. 
The  lines  were  printed  in  Literary  Opinion,  February  1 892. 

Faint  yet  Pursuing,  page  264. — These  sonnets  also  were 
published  in  Literary  Opinion,  April  1892.     Date  conjectural. 

Lleaven  Overarches,  page  265.  —  I  found  these  verses  rather 
roughly  written  in  a  little  memorandum-book.  Their  date 
must,  I  think,  be  as  late  as  1893.  Except  Sleepiiig  at  Last 
(p.  184),  they  appear  to  be  about  the  last  lines  produced  by 
my  sister. 

Versi,  page  269.  —  In  1851-52  some  young  ladies  (mostly 
living  in  the  Regent's  Park  neighbourhood)  had  a  fancy  for  get- 
ting up  a  little  privately-printed  magazine,  which  was  termed 
The  Bouquet  from  Marylebone  Gardens.  My  sister  was  invited 
to  contribute,  and  she  consented  to  do  so,  writing  always  in 
Italian.  Each  contributor  adopted  some  floral  name  as  a 
signature;  Christina  was  "  Calta."  These  Versi,  and  also  the  fol- 
lowing two  compositions,  come  from  this  rather  obscure  source. 
Christina's  principal  contribution  was  in  prose,  not  verse  —  a 
Corrispo7idenza  Famigliare  between  two  supposed  young  ladies, 


NOTES  393 

Italian  and  English,  the  former  l:)eing  at  school.  There  are 
eight  of  these  letters,  rather  neat  performances  in  their  way; 
and,  no  doubt,  others  would  have  followed  but  for  the  early 
decease  of  the  magazine,  the  withering  of  the  Bouquet. 

Nigella,  page  270. —  In  the  Corrispojidenza  above-named 
these  verses  are  introduced  as  being  written  by  the  Italian 
damsel  to  accommodate  her  English  friend,  who  had  been  asked 
to  produce  some  Italian  lines  for  a  lady's  album. 

Chiesa  e  Signore,  page  271. — These  lines  appear  in  a  scrap 
of  MS.  which  is  thus  inscribed: — "  Written  out  at  Folkestone 
6  August  1871,  but  date  of  composition  not  recollected  by 
C.  G.  R."  I  infer  that  the  date  of  composition  was  then 
rather  remote,  perhaps  towards  i860. 

//  Rosseggiar  delV  Oriente^  page  272.  —  For  any  quasi- 
explanation  as  to  these  singularly  pathetic  verses  — "  Love's 
very  vesture  and  elect  disguise,"  the  inborn  idiom  of  a  pure 
and  impassioned  heart  —  I  refer  the  reader  to  my  slight  remarks 
upon  the  poem  entitled  What?  page  68.  The  Italian  verses 
were  kept  by  Christina  in  the  jealous  seclusion  of  her  writing- 
desk,  and  I  suppose  no  human  eye  had  looked  upon  them  until 
I  found  them  there  after  her  death. 

Blu77iine  rispoiide,  page  274. —  In  "  Blumine  "  the  reader 
will  recognize  a  name  used  by  Carlyle  in  Sartor  Resartus. 

Lassuso  il  caro  Fiore,  page  276.  —  The  main  topic  in  this 
little  poem  must  have  some  relation  to  what  is  touched  upon 
in  No.  3  of  the  series. 

Per  Preferenza,  page  282.  —  To  the  first  of  these  stanzas 
Christina  has  written  the  word  "Supposto";  to  the  second, 
"Accertato";  to  the  third,  "  Dedotto."  There  must  have 
been  in  her  head  some  whimsical  notion  of  logical  sequence,  or 
what  not.  I  can  understand  it  to  some  extent,  without  dis- 
cussing it. 

Z'  Uommibaito,  page  287.  —  Christina  took  it  upon  her  to 
Italianize  in  this  form  the  name  of  the  lVo77ibat,  which  was  a 
cherished  pet  animal  of  our  brother.  It  will  be  understood 
that  she  is  exhorting  the  Wombat  not  to  follow  (which  he  was 
much  inclined  to  do)  his  inborn  propensity  for  burrowing,  and 
not  to  turn  up  in  the  Antipodes,  his  native  Australia. 

AdrianOy  page  288.  —  See  the  note  to  page  171. 


394  NOTES 

Ni7itia-7ianna,\)2igt  2SS. — The  following  snatches  of  Italian 
verse  are  translations  or  paraphrases  made  by  Christina  from 
her  own  volume  of  nursery  songs  (several  of  which,  indeed, 
are  fit  for  apartments  other  than  the  nursery)  named  Singsong. 
Our  cousin  Teodorico  Pietrocola-Rossetti  first  made  some 
translations  from  that  book,  whose  title  he  rendered  as  Ni7ina- 
7ianna  ;  herein  I  follow  his  lead.  His  translations  were  felicitous. 
Inspirited  by  his  example,  Christina  made  other  —  and  I  conceive, 
in  poetic  essentials,  still  better  —  translations.  Readers  familiar 
with  Si7igsong  will  perceive  that  numerous  compositions  in  that 
volume  remain  untranslated. 

Sog7za7tdo,  page  302.  —  I  give  this  title  to  two  stanzas  which 
I  find  written  by  Christina  into  a  copy  of  our  father's  book  of 
sacred  poems  —  //  Tet7ipo,  ovvero  Dio  e  V  U07710,  Salter io,  1843. 
The  copy  is  one  which  he  gave  in  the  same  year  to  his  sister- 
inTaw,  Charlotte  Polidori;  as  the  latter  lived  on  till  January 
1890,  this  copy  would  only  at  that  date  have  become  Christina's 
property.  This  consideration  and  also  the  look  of  the  hand- 
writing induce  me  to  suppose  that  the  verses  were  written  not 
earher  than  1890;  they  would  thus  be  the  last  Italian  verses 
which  my  sister  ever  wrote.  She  has  signed  them  thus : 
"  C.  G.  R.,  fired  by  papa's  calling  this  metre  difficult "  —  the 
metre  being  the  one  adopted  throughout  the  whole  book  // 
Tempo  in  its  original  form.  This  MS.  note  might  suggest  a 
far  earlier  date  for  the  lines  ;  but,  on  the  whole,  I  abide  by 
my  own  view  as  just  expressed. 

To  my  Mother,  07i  the  Ayiniversary  of  her  Birth.,  page 
305. — These  are  (I  believe,  beyond  a  doubt)  the  first 
verses  that  Christina  ever  composed ;  written  as  they  were 
on  27  April  1842,  she  was  then  aged  eleven  years  and 
a  third.  She  was  a  w^ayward  child ;  not  at  all  a  bookish 
one,  although  she  read  some  few  things  with  zest.  I  pre- 
sume that  we  were  all  a  little  surprised  at  her  "  coming 
out "  in  this  line,  but  have  no  express  recollection  of  details. 
Our  grandfather,  Gaetano  Polidori,  who  kept  a  private 
printing-press,  printed  the  lines  at  once  on  a  card  ;  he  after- 
wards, 1847,  included  them  in  the  small  volume  named  Verses. 
I  need  not  say  that  the  fines  are  regarded  by  me  as  in  no  sense 
approaching  towards  excellence;  they  are  simple,  spontaneous, 
and  in  some  degree  neat,  and  the  circumstances  seem  to  warrant 
their  being  given  here.     In  the  first  of  Christina's  note-books 


NOTES  395 

(see  remarks  in  my  preface)  these  two  quatrains  appear,  and 
the  dates  for  later  productions  go  on  to  3  December  1845;  ^^^ 
my  mother  has  written  on  the  flyleaf  the  following  "N.B.," 
which  may  be  worth  quoting: — "These  verses  are  truly  and 
literally  by  my  little  daughter,  who  scrupulously  rejected  all 
assistance  in  her  rhyming  efforts,  under  the  impression  that  in 
that  case  they  would  not  be  really  her  own."  At  some  date  — 
it  may  have  been  towards  1850  —  Christina  took  it  into  her 
head  to  make  some  little  coloured  illustrations  to  that  printed 
volume  of  Verses;  they  are  slight  and  amateurish  —  one  might 
indeed  say  childish.  There  is  a  certain  degree  of  fancy  in 
them,  however  ;  and  Dante  Gabriel  always  considered  that  our 
sister,  had  she  chosen  to  study  and  take  pains,  might  have  done 
something  as  an  artist.  To  the  present  small  poem  the  emblem 
is  two  sprigs  of  heartsease.  As  I  proceed  I  shall  mention 
other  devices,  whenever  they  seem  to  present  any  point  of 
interest. 

Hymn^  P^-g^  305- — This  seems  to  be  the  fourth  thing  which 
Christina  wrote  in  verse.  In  the  note-book  there  is  only  one 
intermediate  composition  —  its  inscribed  date  1842.  There  was 
also  (but  these  were  not  deemed  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  note- 
book) the  jocular  couplets  on  The  China?na7i^  which  appear  in 
my  Memoir  of  Dante  G.  Rossetti.  So  far  as  I  can  make  out, 
that  Chiiia77iait  was  the  first  thing  which  Christina  wrote  after 
the  verses  To  7?iy  Mother. 

Love  Ephemeral,  page  309.  —  Device  —  the  crescent  moon, 
with  a  lunar  (more  like  a  solar)  rainbow. 

Burial  Anthem,  page  310. — This  may,  or  may  not,  have 
been  written  in  relation  to  some  one  in  particular;  there  was 
not  any  death  in  our  immediate  family  about  that  date.  Device 
—  a  sprig  of  blue  and  pink  forget-me-not. 

The  End  of  Time,  page  315.  —  Device  —  a  rose  crossing  a 
scythe;   within  the  angle  of  the  scythe,  an  hour-glass. 

Mother  and  Child,  page  318.  — Mr.  William  Sharp  published, 
in  The  Atlantic  Mojithly  for  June  1895,  ^  ^^^Y  sympathetic  and 
interesting  article,  So?ne  Re?jiiniscences  of  CJwistina  Rossetti. 
Here  he  says  that  on  one  occasion  Dante  Gabriel  "  pointed  out 
that  Blake  might  have  written  the  four  verses  called  Mother 
and  Child.''  It  would  seem  truer  to  say  that  Blake  might  have 
written  a  lyric,  of  higher   quality,  embodying  much  the  same 


396  NOTES 

conception.      Device  —  some  flowers  of  undefined  genus,  with 
sun-rays  behind  them. 

On  the  Death  of  a  Cat,  page  319. — This  cat  belonged  to 
our  aunt,  Eliza  Harriet  Polidori.  Device  —  a  cat,  in  a  rather 
sentimental  attitude  of  languor,  extending  its  right  arm  over  a 
kitten.     The  cat  is  sandy  and  white,  the  kitten  tabby. 

Love  Defended^  page  322.  —  Device  —  a  blind  man  (stanza  3) 
groping,  with  trees  in  the  background. 

The  Martyr,  ■pa.gQ  323.  —  Device  —  the  soul  of  the  martyr 
received  into  heaven  by  an  angel.  Between  the  angel's  wings 
are  a  series  of  red  and  white  curves,  symbolizing  (I  suppose) 
the  seven  heavens,  as  in  Dante. 

The  Dying  Man  to  his  Betrothed^  page  325.  —  Device  —  a 
rosebush  intertwined  by  a  snake. 

The  Ti7ne  of  Waiting,  page  334.  — Device  — a  damsel  on  a 
steep  green  slope,  stretching  her  arms  up  longingly;  from  the 
sky  a  black-hooded  woman,  or  spectre,  addresses  her  with  an 
action  of  admonition.  This  seems  to  be  apposite  chiefly  to 
triplet  2. 

Tasso  and  Leonora,  page  337.  — Device  —  the  shooting  star 
in  a  female  form. 

Resurrection  Eve^  page  341.  —  Device  —  a  white  grave-cross, 
two  palm  shrubs  interlacing  above  it;  in  the  sky,  crescent  moon 
and  star. 

The  Dream,  page  356.  —  I  am  not  sure  whether  the  first 
short  quatrain  here  printed  is  an  integral  portion  of  the  poem,  or 
rather  a  quotation  from  some  other  writer;   I  fancy  the  latter. 

Eleanor,  page  358.  —  This  may  be  a  portrait  from  the  life  — 
I  know  not  now  of  whom. 

Lsidora,  page  359.  —  Maturings  romance  Melmoth  the  Wan- 
derer is,  I  suppose,  still  known  to  several  readers :  it  was  repub- 
lished some  few  years  ago.  Yet  it  may  be  as  well  to  say,  in 
explanation  of  the  present  poem,  that  Melmoth  is  a  personage 
who  has  made  a  compact  with  the  Devil,  thereby  securing  an 
enormous  length  of  life  (say  a  century  and  a  half),  and  the 
power  of  flitting  at  will  from  land  to  land.  At  the  end  of  the 
term,  Melmoth's  soul  is  to  be  forfeited,  unless  he  can  mean- 
while induce  some  one  else  to  take  the  compact  off  his  hands. 


NOTES  397 

Melmoth  makes  numerous  efforts  in  this  direction,  but  all 
abortive.  One  of  his  intended  victims  is  a  beautiful  girl  named 
Immalee,  a  child  of  Nature  in  an  Indian  island  —  a  second 
Miranda.  She  becomes  deeply  enamoured  of  Melmoth,  but 
resists  his  tamperings  with  her  soul.  She  is  finally  identified 
as  the  daughter  of  a  Spanish  Grandee,  and  is  then  baptized  as 
Isidora.  At  one  point  of  the  story  she  espouses  Melmoth,  and 
bears  him  a  child.  Christina's  poem  is  her  deathbed  scene. 
The  last  line  is  truly  a  fine  stroke  of  pathos  and  of  effect;  but 
it  is  not  Christina's  —  it  comes  verbatim  out  of  Maturin. 

Zara,  page  362.  —  See  the  note  on  the  poem  Look  on  this 
picture^  and  on  this  (p.  103).  In  the  novel  of  Wofnen,  Zara  is 
the  rival  (she  finally  turns  out  to  be  the  mother)  of  Eva;  she  is 
a  shining  leader  of  society,  much  the  same  sort  of  character  as 
Lady  xMontrevor  in  The  Wild  Irish  Boy  (p.  14).  In  the  same 
year,  1847,  "^vhen  she  wrote  Zara,  my  sister  wrote  a  separate 
composition,  Eva,  Its  merit  is  but  middling,  and  I  do  not 
reproduce  it  here.  The  device  to  Zara  is  a  foxglove  plant, 
with  insects  sucking  its  poison-honey. 

I77imalee,  page  366.  —  See  the  note  on  Isidora  (p.  359). 

Lady  Isabella,  page  366.  —  This  was  Lady  Isabella  Howard, 
a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Wicklow;  she  was  a  pupil  of  my 
aunt,  Charlotte  Polidori.  My  sister  entertained  an  ardent 
admiration  for  the  loveliness  of  character  and  person  which 
marked  this  young  lady,  w^ho  died  of  a  decline  at  the  age  of 
eighteen  or  thereabouts. 

Night  a7id  Death,  page  367.  —  It  may  reasonably  be  assumed 
that  this  lyric  also  has  some  reference  to  the  death  of  Lady 
Isabella  Howard. 

The  Lotus-Eaters,  page  370. — Of  course  the  sentiment  here, 
as  well  as  the  title,  comes  to  some  considerable  extent  out  of 
Tennyson. 


WORKS  BY  WILLIAM  WATSON. 

THE  POEMS  OF  WILLIAM  WATSON. 

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New  Frontispiece  Portrait. 

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*'  His  name  will  fill  a  proud  place  among  the  poets  of  his  day,  for  his  fame 
will  increase  with  the  years,  as  his  poetry  is  of  the  sort  that  stands  the  test 
of  time." —  The  World. 

"  Lovers  of  poise,  felicity,  and  beauty,  will  find  this  volume  worth  its 
weight  in  gold.  It  stirs  one  anew  to  those  ecstasies  of  emotion  without 
which  this  life,  however  well  regulated  by  reason,  becomes  a  dull  round 
of  arid  pleasures  and  vexatious  pains."  —  Boston  Traveler. 

LYRIC   LOVE. 

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gathered  from  three  centuries  of  song.  The  editor  was  fastidious,  and  his 
aim  was  far  from  merely  collecting  love  lyrics,  for  it  includes  the  bringing 
together,  whenever  practicable,  of  the  best  English  poetry  having  love  as  its 
personal  inspiration  and  objective  theme.  Thus,  many  passages,  where  the 
primal  agency  was  love,  have  been  selected  from  plays  and  from  narrative 
verse,  when  they  could  be  detached  from  the  context  without  impairing  their 
integrity.  The  range  of  selection  is  wide,  and  the  anthology  is  guided  by 
the  best  of  taste.  '  Lyric  Love  '  forms  a  good  second  to  the  peerless  '  Golden 
Treasury'  of  Professor  Palgrave,  and  it  has  the  advantage  of  including  some 
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"  The  plan  and  development  of  this  metrical  story  are  novel,  and  the  versi- 
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press succinctly  his  meaning  ;  and  though  the  treatment  of  his  subject  is  in 
the  main  light  and  humorous,  the  work  has  a  more  serious  purpose  that 
cannot  be  misunderstood."  —  Boston  Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 


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